Deducing Hearts
by Noelle McHenry
Summary: One night, Sherlock is called by Lestrade to assist with a case. However, as John finds out, the case is not entirely straightforward, and the consequences of Sherlock's accidental slip-up prove to be dire... An AU story written with melodiavalentine from deviantART. Not formatted very well. Sorry for any OOC moments.
1. A New Case

It was a regular night in London. The subways were running, the city lights were glowing, and Sherlock Holmes was bored out of his goddamned skull.  
The sound of gunshots filled the flat at 221B Baker Street, as Sherlock was emptying the ammunition of his colleague Dr. John H. Watson's gun into the wall, onto which he had earlier drawn a large yellow smiley face.

"By God, Sherlock, why did you do that?" asked John.

"Bored." Sherlock replied nonchalantly as he kept shooting at the wall.

"I think you better stop before someone phones the police."

"Now wouldn't that be interesting." Sherlock replied with a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "John, hand me my phone."

John sighed and shook his head as he handed him the phone.

Sherlock looked through his received messages for a moment, and then with a sigh he put the phone away and resumed shooting the wall.

"I'll never understand you, Sherlock."

Abruptly, Mrs. Hudson walked in. "What is all this commo-" At this point, she saw the wall. "Sherlock, what are you doing to my wall?!"  
"The wall deserved it." Sherlock replied.  
Exasperated, Mrs. Hudson turned to leave, shouting at him, "This is coming out of your rent, Sherlock!"  
As usual, Sherlock didn't seem to care. He tried to keep shooting the wall, only for the gun to click. "Out of ammo."

"It's a wonder she hasn't thrown you out yet, Sherlock." sighed John.

"She keeps me here because she wants my company when she needs it." For a moment, Sherlock thought about that deduction. "... What a poor choice of acquaintance she has. Oh, and John, we're out of milk."

"Again? But I just got some yesterday!"

"I had to make bacteria for an experiment." was Sherlock's explanation to the sudden absence of milk.

John sighed again. "I'll go get more."

"Good." Sherlock put his fingers together in front of his face and seemed to fall deep into thought.

John grabbed his coat and left to get more milk.

As he was leaving, he bumped into Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. "Oh," He muttered, "Sorry. Is Sherlock in?"

"Yes he is, Inspector."

"Good, I need him for a case. You don't mind if I take him, do you?"

"Go ahead."

About fifteen minutes later, after a battle with the machine at the shop as per norm, John returned to 221B Baker St. to find Sherlock fully dressed, sitting on his chair, and Lestrade leaning against the desk in the middle of the room impatiently.  
When Sherlock saw John, he clasped his hands together and stood. "Alright, Graham, let's go."  
"It's _Greg_." Lestrade grumbled.  
"Greg, then."

"We have a case?"

"Yes, John. It's about time, too."

"I'll be right with you as soon as I put the milk away."

Sherlock turned to Lestrade. "We'll be following shortly in a taxi. I just need to have a few quick words with John first."  
"So be it," Lestrade replied. "I'll be waiting at the crime scene." That said, the Detective Inspector left, and Sherlock slowly trailed behind John.

John carefully put the milk away into the fridge.

"John." Sherlock said to get his flatmate's attention, his hands held behind his back as usual.

"Yes, Sherlock?" he answered as he turned.

As Sherlock continued, he almost seemed to have a little bit of emotion on his face, which was strange. "I... I just want you to know that if at any time you need to leave, you can. You don't even have to come with me this time if you don't want to."

"Why are you acting so strange, Sherlock?" he asked with concern.

"I'm simply trying to voice concern. I believe I've heard you say the victim's name once or twice, and from the way you spoke of the victim, I believe you may feel sentiment for them in some way." Firstly, Sherlock was showing vague emotion. Secondly, he was suggesting that despite seeming to ignore everything John ever said, that he did in fact listen. It really was turning out to be a strange day.

"You're starting to scare me."

"The victim in question is..." Sherlock stopped and blinked for a moment. "Never mind. Let's not keep Lestrade waiting for too long when he gets there. Come along." The Consulting Detective turned around and started walking to leave the flat.

He nodded and walked with him.

Sherlock hailed a taxi on the street, and after they both got in he told the driver where to go. As the taxi started to move, Sherlock sat quietly beside John, not saying anything.

"Something on your mind?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"I don't know." Though typically something Sherlock would rarely say, these three words tumbled out of Sherlock's mouth at that moment.

"Now I know something is wrong with you."

"I'm fine, John." He replied, however a tad too quickly.

"Sherlock..."

"I knew the victim as well, better than you did. I think I feel something because of their death, but I don't know what it is. But I can't just leave the crime scene like you can if I start thinking too sentimentally."

"What do you mean?"

"If I start caring too much about the victim, then it might cloud my thoughts. I can't let myself care. But not caring is for some reason difficult right now." He confessed. "My actual reason for bringing you along is selfish; I want someone to talk me back to my senses if I seem to slip, even if that someone happens to be another person who knew the victim."

"It just shows that you really do have feelings, Sherlock."

"Feeling is a weakness. I can't show anyone a weakness."

"It's not a weakness, Sherlock."

"Isn't it? If you had to hurt someone you loved who was going to kill you if you didn't, or hurt someone you hated instead even if it meant your loved one would kill you, who would you choose?"

"That's a hard choice, Sherlock."

"That's what people would usually say. Why? Because they feel attachment to the one they love, so they don't want to hurt them. They feel, John, and because of that they throw out their self-preservation strategies to keep safe the one that makes them feel good. If nobody felt, maybe some of the victims of ' _accidental_ ' murders and domestic abuse cases might still be alive.  
"But no, they opt to _feel_ things. Why is that? Why would people rather feel and die than live apathetically and survive?"

"Because we're social creatures, Sherlock. We need one another."

That reply actually seemed to make him think, and in response to that he for some reason looked John over with his pale blue eyes.

"Sherlock?"

"You and those idiots might need one another, but I only need two things." Sherlock mumbled as he turned his head away and looked out the window.

"And those are?" he asked; feeling a bit hurt.

"Cases to solve and someone to share them with." He muttered.

"I thought you said you don't need anyone." John countered.

"I don't need any of those idiots that think I'm a 'freak'. Just don't ever try to hurt me, and my opinion on the rashness of human error, that being attachment, will go un-conflicted." If things weren't already strange, Sherlock Holmes was now somewhat-indirectly complimenting John Watson, and saying the doctor was the only human he had any sort of attachment to. It was both somewhat sweet and insanely revealing as to how shaken Sherlock was to know who the victim of their latest case was.

"So what do you know about the victim?" he said to change the subject.

"Only who they were. Lestrade didn't tell me anything else, or if he did, I didn't listen."

"There's the Sherlock I know."

Sherlock smirked a little bit.  
Shortly after, the taxi came to a stop, and Sherlock stepped out.  
Lestrade approached him, looking rather grim. "Sherlock, I wouldn't have asked you to come if-"  
"If you weren't completely baffled. Yes, Lestrade, I get it."  
"Are you sure you can go in there?"  
"Of course. Why wouldn't I be able to go in there?"

John started looking around.

It didn't take long for him to realize that the victim was none other than Molly Hooper, the shy young woman that worked in the morgue at the Scotland Yard and had a blatantly obvious (to everyone but Sherlock) crush on Sherlock.

"Poor girl... We must find out who did this to her..." he muttered.

Sherlock walked over and saw Molly's body. Being used to scenes like this, he didn't flinch or anything, though he almost seemed saddened, which was rather uncharacteristic for the consulting detective, albeit being a tad human.  
"I'll figure out who he is, don't worry about that."

"Find any clues yet?"

"The way her throat was cut means it was cut with a jagged hunting knife, relatively new. She struggled, and it seems she was brought here in a vehicle. The blood on the walls here seems to be intentional; perhaps it's a cipher of some sort, but I can't make it out unless I really try." For what Sherlock usually said, this was strangely quick and to the point. He wasn't showing off so much, or perhaps he was right about his thoughts being clouded over.

"But why kill her of all people?"

"Perhaps the cipher says. Give me a minute on this, John; I think I vaguely recognize the cipher." He thought for a minute, before loudly exclaiming "Oh! This character is an S! This is Pigpen Cipher! It says, 'Sh'-..." Sherlock trailed off, his face going blank as he stared at the bloody message on the wall with wide eyes.

"It's a message for you, isn't it, Sherlock?"

"It isn't for _me_. It's for _everyone **but** me_." He snapped his head around with a fierce look in his eyes and looked John right in the eyes. "The weapon is still on the crime scene. Go find it." Then, he turned back to the cipher, put on his leather gloves, and started smearing it so that no one else could read it, thereby destroying evidence on the scene, which he was absolutely not allowed to do, and had never intentionally done before.

He quickly went to search around for the weapon; now starting to worry more about his friend.

He couldn't find it anywhere.  
Soon Sherlock joined him. "My heart's pounding, but it's not an enjoyable excitement I'm feeling right now." He said. "Let's leave. No, first let's tell Lestrade something, then let's leave."

"Alright, Sherlock."

Sherlock and John went to Lestrade, who turned to look at them.  
"Sherlock! What did you find?"  
"Our victim was beaten by someone, and she was cut with a stainless steel kitchen knife. She walked here, but God knows why."  
"Say, just a second ago, Anderson found some blood on the wall by there. Looks like it might've been a cipher, but it's all smeared. Could you make it out?"  
"No. Either it isn't a cipher or the killer decided he didn't want it to be seen after he had written it." Everything Sherlock was saying was a blatant lie. It almost seemed like he was trying to lead Lestrade as far away from the killer as possible.

"Sherlock, that's not what you told me earlier."

Sherlock seemed to squirm a bit. "I changed my theories." He replied, though likely this was also a lie.  
"You? Sherlock Holmes, change his theories?" Lestrade asked, amused.  
"Yes... New evidence _does_ change first opinions, Gary." He said, getting Lestrade's name wrong again. "We're going now."  
"Wait, that's all you found out?"  
"Yep." He blurted, not mentioning his comment that the weapon was still apparently on the crime scene. "Let's go, John." He started walking briskly.

John quickly followed. "Why did you lie, Sherlock? That's not like you."

For only a brief moment, Sherlock revealed the weapon, a jagged and bloody hunting knife. He had it in his coat pocket.

"The murder weapon! Why did you take it?" he asked in shock.

"I can't let Lestrade have it. There's compromising evidence on it."

"And that would be?"

Sherlock stopped in his tracks. "Oh, what if it's under her nails, too? Dammit! I should've cleaned her nails while we were in there. How clumsy of me to forget about her nails!" It almost sounded like he didn't want the killer to get caught... or worse and more unbelievable yet, like maybe he was the killer.

"Sherlock, tell me everything now!"

"No time, John." He quickly resumed walking, trying to avoid having to say anything.

" _Sherlock_ , _tell_ me what's going on!"

Sherlock stopped and marched back over to John. He stood so close, looking down at his colleague, that his breath could almost be felt on John's face with every word. "Who do you think killed Molly, John?"

"Well by the way you're acting, I would say it's you, but I would like to think I know you better!"

"I would like to think that way as well. There have been times, John, where you've missed entire Wednesdays and not realized it." He said rather maliciously. "If I wanted to kill Molly Hooper, I would not have slit her throat and got blood everywhere. This killer is either a rookie or is trying their best to look it. But before I can catch him, I have to play his game."

"A game, Sherlock?"

"I can't let Lestrade get him first. The only way to do that..." Sherlock took the knife out of his pocket, removed one of his gloves, and proceeded to get his fingerprints all over the hilt of the blade. He then tossed it in the general direction of the crime scene. "... is to play murderer to buy him some time."


	2. Old Maid

"Sherlock, this is _insane!_ Why are you doing this? You don't have to play his sick game!" John yelled.

"True. I could just let Lestrade take him in and let that be the end of it. But where's the fun in that?"

"Sherlock, what is it that you're not telling me?"

"Oh, nothing, other than the fact that I'm not going to be returning to Baker Street for a while. You know, with me about to be the main suspect in a murder case and all."

"Then how are we going to solve this case, Sherlock?"

"The killer is going to find me himself." He said this boldly, apparently not realizing or just not caring that such a prospect was horrifyingly dangerous.

"You're out of your mind this time, Sherlock!"

"How so?"

"You're trying to get arrested for a crime you didn't commit!"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. I have no intention of getting arrested, I just want the heat on me. I want to fool them into thinking it's me so that the real killer will show himself to me. That shouldn't be _too_ difficult. They're probably theorizing about my bizarre behavior now."

"I'll say it again. I'll never understand you, Sherlock."

As they made it to the main road and Sherlock hailed a taxi, he said, "You do have a small choice to make, though, John: are you going to return to Baker Street, or are you going to follow me? I would highly recommend the former, seeing as the latter could be _dangerous_." He put subtle emphasis on ' _dangerous_ ', seeing as that was the word that had attracted John to live with him at Baker Street when they first met.

"I'm not backing out now, Sherlock. Someone has to keep an eye on you." John smirked.

"You're a brave man, John Watson. Either that, or you're just an idiot." The taller man joked lightheartedly as he got into the taxi and mumbled an address to the driver.

John got into the taxi as well.

Sherlock, sitting to John's left, clasped his hands together in front of his face. He remained silent, as if waiting for John to start a conversation again; despite how unusual he had been acting today, this wasn't one of those unusual actions.

"So what's the plan, Sherlock?" asked John.

"I don't have one." This was probably the most alarming thing Sherlock had said in a long time.

"You don't have a plan?"

"Unless making a scene in the middle of the subway counts as a plan, no."

"And why do you want to do that?"

"Our killer is likely faking being a rookie to get my attention. It's working. Now, if they are not a rookie, they likely have accomplices to keep an eye on targets, and whether or not they are leaving. I would be their current target, it would seem. If I were to attempt to leave London by subway, they would know.  
"So if I go to the subway and bring attention to myself, our killer's accomplice will notice me. Then I can get the information I need out of him."

"Hope it works."

After a ten minute drive, the duo arrived at the subway. Sherlock seemed pleased to see that it was bustling with people, just like any other hour of the day.  
"John, I advise you stay back and pretend not to know me." Sherlock said as he remained standing still. After a couple of seconds, he gestured with his head for John to wander off and act natural.

He nodded and wandered away.

Shortly after, he heard Sherlock start yelling the most ridiculous things at people.  
"YOUR HAT IS FUNNY!", "HOW SHORT COULD A WOMAN BE?!", and insanely happy giggling were among the things that came from his mouth as he staggered around like someone on drugs would.  
At first it seemed like a whole trio of security guards was going to do something about Sherlock, but then one of them said a few words to the others and they left, leaving only one guy to approach Sherlock.  
"Who do you think YOU are, MISTER?" Sherlock slurred at him as he approached.  
"Come on. You've gotta go." The guard said this and grabbed Sherlock, but instead of dragging him out of the station as would be expected, he dragged him to a door labelled 'STAFF ONLY'.

John stayed close by to keep an eye on things.

However, the door locked behind the guard, and it needed a key to be opened.  
Whether or not this was accounted for in Sherlock's 'plan' was unknown at that particular moment.

So all he could do was wait.

After a couple of minutes, no one had come through that door.

John was starting to get worried.

Since he was so close to the door, he heard the faint sound of a somewhat muffled gunshot from within.

John's face paled as he feared the worst.

After a couple seconds, he heard another, somewhat louder gunshot. Then, the faint, faint sound of Sherlock's voice.  
" _John...!_ " He moaned. He said something else, but it couldn't be heard from where John was.

"I'm here, Sherlock!"

After a couple tense minutes of silence, the door suddenly opened from the inside, and out stepped Sherlock. His messy hair was messier than before, he looked pale, and he had some blood on his face and the collar of his white dress shirt. He popped his collar up casually as the door closed behind him.

"What happened in there, Sherlock?" he asked.

"I found out what I needed to know. Let's go." Sherlock panted in response. He started walking, albeit with a limp and with his hand clutching a part of his lower abdomen.

"You were shot, weren't you?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter right now. I don't have time to bother with medical treatment either way. Let's-" His left leg gave out, and he nearly slipped.

"You'll have to make time, Sherlock, or you'll fall onto your face."

"No, really, I don't have time. I made a mistake. I have to fix it _now._ " He replied as he staggered a bit.

"What was the mistake?"

"I'm more of a target than I thought... I think the killer doesn't want to talk; he wants me either as a hostage or just flat out dead." He grinned a bit, however shakily. "Probably Mycroft's fault. They probably want info from him."

"Mycroft?"

"Remember how my brother's the Queen of England?" He joked... sort of. "Come on, I need to fix things before Lestrade arrests me." He started limping again, however the limp was much more noticeable now, and he held his abdomen with both hands.

"At least let me treat your wounds or you'll die of blood loss."

"In the middle of a-" He cringed in pain for a moment, but managed to get a handle on it this time. "- subway station full of people? We've made too much of a scene as it is. We have to _go_ , John, **_now._** " He said drastically, and John remembered he'd heard two gunshots, while it looked like Sherlock only had one injury and the guard had never emerged from the Staff Only area.

John nodded and helped him out.

"You'll have to hail a taxi... or whatever... Not sure what a cabbie would think of... a guy with bloody hands flagging him down..."

"We have to do something, Sherlock."

"I can't think..." Bad sign when coming from Sherlock Holmes. It was possible that he was starting to go into shock from the wound.

John helped him to an alleyway; away from public view and began to treat Sherlock's wound.

"You have stuff to treat this on your person...?" Sherlock asked absent-mindedly with a small smirk.  
The wound didn't look fatal on its own, but combined with the blood that still gushed from it, it looked really bad. There was no exit wound, implying that the bullet was still inside Sherlock's body. That would hurt, but nonetheless prevent extreme blood loss.

"I'm a doctor remember? I must be prepared at all times for anything." John said as he removed the bullet and bandaged the wound.

Sherlock bit his lip through the pain, until eventually he laughed a bit. "You're always worrying what people would think... What would they think if they saw this...? Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective... and his partner, Dr. John Watson... in an alley together, Sherlock making loud noises while his shirt is lifted..." He teased before coughing.

"Keep still, Sherlock. There. That should do the trick for now."

Leaning heavily against the wall, Sherlock was able to stand on his own. "Honestly, though... I don't know if I can talk my way out of an arrest from Lestrade, even a temporary one..." He admit.

"Should have thought of that before planting your fingerprints."

"I didn't expect to be so _wrong_ about the killer's objective."

"You should have talked to me more about this, Sherlock."

"If I get arrested, I'll be vulnerable to an attack. I see now; he made it so I would frame myself like that just so that I would be arrested, because he knows I'd be most vulnerable in a cell."

"In other words, tricked the great Sherlock Holmes."

"Yes." Sherlock agreed with a scowl on his face. "Yes, I suppose he did, didn't he."

"Only way out of this is to the tell the inspector and catch the fiend."

"It's not that simple, John."

"I know, Sherlock."

"Aagh, I just can't believe I made such a big mistake! I think I just got the Old Maid, John. I can't win this game the killer is playing with me now, because I've _already lost!_ "

"You can't think like that, Sherlock."

"I'm just going to have to keep playing the game regardless, it seems."

"I'll help you the best I can."

"Just don't get hurt in the process or I'll never forgive myself." Sherlock mumbled.

"Alright, Sherlock."

"... I honestly don't know where to go, though."

"Nor do I."

"Should we just go to Lestrade and get my arrest over with, or should we keep trying to avoid that?"

"We should _avoid_ it, Sherlock."

"Then where do we go? We can't return to Baker Street."

"I wish I knew, Sherlock."

Sherlock seemed to have an idea, but then he dismissed it.

"Do you have an idea?"

"No, none that are rational."

"Since when do you have a rational idea?"

"More often than not, more rational ideas than the one I just had."

"Well, what was it?"

"To go pay Mycroft a visit."

"Alright, Sherlock."

"It's not happening."

"What do you mean?"

"I've never run to my ghastly older brother for help before. I won't start now."

"But he could _help_ us, Sherlock."

"He wouldn't help me. He'd just _laugh_ at me, call me stupid, and tell me the East Wind is coming to get me."

"But we have no other choice, Sherlock." John argued.

"Mycroft wouldn't be interested in our plight. There's no reason to bother with him." Sherlock countered. "There _has_ to be another solution."

"He would if we offered something in exchange for his help."

Sherlock stared at John with a strange face. "What on Earth do we have to offer someone like Mycroft? Our dying loyalty? He's already got most of the British government under his fingertips."

"I remember he always admired my pocket-watch."

Sherlock appeared to narrow his eyes in confusion. "... Really? Hm. Perhaps he's too stubborn to buy one for himself, since I've never actually seen him with one."

"And mine is a really old pocket-watch."

"An antique? I suppose I can see the sense in Mycroft being interested in antiques. However, I'm not sure he'll take it in exchange for help."

"We can at least try."

"... I've no better idea. Hold on, I'll send a message." Sherlock pulled out his phone and sent a message to Mycroft. "... Alright, he's sending us a ride. Should be here any minute now."

"Alright, Sherlock."

Sherlock stood there awkwardly. After a few seconds of silence, he mumbled at John. "Uh, thanks. ... For... the help. With this bullet wound, I mean."

"You're welcome, Sherlock."

Another awkward silence filled the air around them as they waited.

Soon their ride came to pick them up.

It was a black limousine.  
Sherlock tried to appear unhurt as he got into the limo, but forgot that he still had blood on his face... not that the driver cared.

John carefully enter the vehicle as well.

The limo started to move, and Sherlock quietly stared out the window.

"Nervous, Sherlock?"

"No." After a brief pause, he mumbled, "... Maybe."

"Don't worry, Sherlock. I'll be with you the whole time."

Sherlock smiled a little.

John smiled back.

"... So. How's the hunt for a ' _girlfriend_ ' going?"

"Not so good, Sherlock..." John sighed.

"Who was your last one? That boring school teacher?"

"She wasn't boring."

"Wasn't she?" Sherlock took a quiet breath, about to tumble into another ramble of deductions.

"Well she wasn't to me at least."

Sherlock leaned his head against the window and covered his eyes with his hand as if he was tired. "You deserve better than her, John."

"You really think so?"

"Of course."

"I hope I can find her."

" _Mm..._ " was Sherlock's only response, as he was beginning to doze off.

"Are you alright, Sherlock?"

"Hm...?" replied Sherlock, who kept his eyes hidden in the crook of his palm while his head bobbed against the window from the motion of the limo.

"Sherlock, please answer me." he said as he snapped his fingers.

The Consulting Detective sat himself upright, uncovering his eyes. "What? Sorry, I was... _lost_."

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. I'm just sort of, uh..." He appeared lost for words for a moment. "... _lost,_ yeah."

"You have to take it easy. You've lost a lot of blood."

"Are you _worried_ about me?" He asked, as if surprised.

"I'm worried about you all the time, Sherlock."

Sherlock turned his head to look out the window as he smiled a bit.

John smiled a bit as well.


	3. Enter Mycroft

The limo pulled to a stop, and with that, Sherlock's smile disappeared. "Well, let's go visit the Queen." He said, insulting his brother.

"You should go easy on him."

"How about _he_ should go easy on _me?_ Wouldn't _that_ be the day?" Sherlock replied bitterly as he got out of the limousine.

"Now, now, Sherlock. We're here to ask for his help."

"I know."

"So be nice."

Sherlock didn't reply to that request, and instead entered the building before them.

John sighed as he walked in as well.

Sherlock walked briskly through the room, opening a brown door that blended in with the walls without even bothering to knock.

"That was a bit rude."

Sherlock looked back at John for a moment before turning back. "... He's not in here."  
"Because I'm behind you, Sherlock."  
Sherlock slowly turned to see Mycroft sitting in a chair halfway across the room, looking at them.

" _Oh!_ Mycroft, you gave me a start." wheezed John.

"Now, what kind of trouble have you stirred this time, Sherlock?" Mycroft said.  
"I made a mistake. I need you to keep Scotland Yard busy for a while."  
Mycroft narrowed his eyes at his younger brother. "What, you want me to forge some sort of case or incident just so you can do whatever you please?"  
"They're after me, Mycroft. I planted evidence against myself a little too obviously, and now I need to clear my name by finding the real man they should be after."  
Mycroft put his hand to his face, slowly shaking his head. "Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock... What on Earth am I going to do with you?"

"I often wonder that myself, Mycroft."

Sherlock briefly gave John a somewhat scolding look before Mycroft continued.  
"You always say that you know how much they..." Mycroft trailed off, glancing at John for a second as if only just noticing his presence. "Oh, you don't mind if I continue this in front of your... ' _colleague_ ', do you, Sherlock?" He asked, saying ' _colleague_ ' as though Sherlock had been using a different term to define John to his older brother alone.  
"Yes, I _do_." Sherlock snapped aggressively, almost seeming flustered. "Just get to the point."  
"I'm not going to help you, Sherlock. I can't do something like that; I'd get into a great deal of trouble."

"Even if I offer up my pocket-watch?" John said as he took out the watch.

Mycroft raised a brow, looking at the pocket-watch. He soon shifted his vision to Sherlock with annoyance clear in his eyes.  
"I didn't tell him." Sherlock replied to the glance calmly. "He deduced it himself."  
"Then perhaps he really _is_ a _force_ to be _trifled with_." Mycroft growled at Sherlock, his voice laced with sarcasm.  
"Perhaps so." Sherlock said; in contrast to Mycroft, his affirmation of this was genuine.  
Mycroft looked back at John. "I would help if I could. I really can't do something like that if I enjoy having a good reputation."

"Oh, I see..." he sighed as he put the watch away.

"Don't take it too personally, John." Sherlock said, though he was glaring hard at Mycroft. "My brother can't be bought even with antiques."  
"I'm not sacrificing my _reputation_ for a _pocket-watch_."  
"Where on Earth will you find another like it? Oh, bother, that's not my concern. Now if you'll excuse me, dear brother, John and I need to continue our severely hindered investigation. Good day." He turned and began heading for the door, his hands shoved into the pockets of his flowing black coat.

John followed after him.

"Hold onto that pocket-watch. Keep it safe." Sherlock said as they walked out of the building. "He'll want it for payment later."

"But he said he wasn't going to help."

"You'd be surprised how easily he changes his mind when he's alone." Sherlock replied with a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I hope you're right."

As they walked, Sherlock limping a bit, John remembered how Mycroft had vaguely suggested that Sherlock privately refers to him as something more than a colleague.

"What did he mean, Sherlock?"

Looking at John from the corner of his eyes, he responded, "What are you talking about?"

John told him what he remembered.

Again, Sherlock seemed flustered with the topic. "He didn't mean anything by it." He lied.

"You're lying again."

Sherlock turned his whole face to John, actually beginning to look a little bit flushed. " _Forget_ it." He insisted. "It was just him making fun of me."

"Didn't have to get upset about it. I was only asking."

"... I'm sorry. I just found it rather cruel of him to bring that up in front of you."

"How so?"

"... It was a personal conversation. I had a moment of weakness and I needed to talk to someone, and for some ungodly reason, I chose him."

"Say no more. If it's personal, I won't ask."

"Thank you, I appreciate that more than you might think."

"So what do we do now?"

"I'm honestly not sure." As he was saying this, he received a text, so he pulled out his cellphone. Looking at the message, he suddenly trailed off and stopped in his tracks.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

Silently, Sherlock showed John his phone. The text said, "Baker Street, now. Took your landlady out for a night on the town. Nice flat you and John have here. Damn shame."

John's face paled as he read the text. "We must hurry back to the flat! He might have done something to Mrs. Hudson!" he cried.

"But that's exactly what he wants us to do, John."

"But, Sherlock..."

"Oh, to hell with it, maybe he's giving us a hint. Hail us a taxi, John."

Watson nodded and hailed for a taxi.

After one stopped, Sherlock, for once, waited for John to get in first.

John got into the taxi.

Sherlock got in after and told the cabbie to take them to Baker Street.

John prayed that they weren't too late to save Mrs. Hudson.

When they arrived, they found the door into 221 Baker Street wide-open.

John gulped before slowly walking into the apartment.

"Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock called.

"Are you in here?" Watson called out as well.

Not hearing anything in response, Sherlock poked his head into her flat, 221A. Shortly after, however, he pulled his head out, and ran up the stairs for 221B.

John quickly followed him.

When they got inside, they discovered that their entire flat was in complete disarray; books were thrown everywhere, the knife used to hold the letters down on the mantelpiece was gone, and the furniture was all thrown around. It looked like a tornado had passed through, and not to mention, one of the windows had been smashed through.

John's face paled as he began to worry about their landlady even more.

"Can you believe the nerve of this guy?" Sherlock asks, referring to the state of the flat. He looks at the floor, at marks and creases on the carpet, and then immediately marches toward the broken window.

"We must find this fiend and soon, Sherlock!"

"John?" Sherlock mumbles, staring out the window at the ground below. "John, how well do you think you can treat a few broken ribs, a broken limb or two, a concussion, and a suspected punctured lung?"

"I would need to do all treatment at a hospital, Sherlock. Please don't tell me those are Mrs. Hudson's injuries..."

"All the better; we'll have the hospital take care of her." was Sherlock's response before he pulled out his phone. He was about to call Lestrade, but instead, he tossed his phone to John. "Make the call. I need to check something."

He nodded and made the call.

As he did, Sherlock disappeared into his own bedroom.  
"Hello?" said Lestrade when he answered the call after a few rings.

"Inspector, I need an ambulance here. Mrs. Hudson was attacked!"

"By who?!"

"I don't know! I came home to the flat and saw it was wrecked so I went to the landlady to check on her and her flat is in ruins as well!"

"Where is Sherlock? Do you have any idea where he is?"

"I have no idea where Sherlock went, Inspector, but Mrs. Hudson needs help now!"

"Alright! Just try to care for her while an ambulance is on the way, and if you see Sherlock, then be careful!"

"Alright. Please hurry." he said before hanging up and went to tend to Mrs. Hudson.

The landlady was hurt bad, lying on the ground outside and only half conscious.

"Help's on the way, Mrs. Hudson." he told her as he held her hand and did his best to help her.

As he waited, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, presumably still in the flat.

He continued to help Mrs. Hudson.

Soon enough, an ambulance arrived, as did Detective Inspector Lestrade himself.  
"John! Has Sherlock been here at all recently?!" He shouted.

"He hasn't, Inspector."

As Lestrade kicked the ground in frustration, his partner, Sally Donovan, stepped out of the car as well.  
"I'm going in anyway." She announced as she ran into 211 Baker Street.

"Sherlock wouldn't do something like this, Inspector, if that's what you're thinking."

"I know he wouldn't. I just can't convince anyone else of that. I'm just here to keep my job at this point."

"I understand that."

Suddenly, Donovan ran back outside. "Greg! You need to see this."  
"What is it?"  
"Upstairs, in the Freak's bedroom." was her only reply, referring to Sherlock.  
Lestrade shot John a quick glance before hurrying inside.

John hurried inside as well.

The two of them found that the words " **GET SHERLOCK** " were practically dug into the wall opposite of the bedroom door, with a smiley face drawn into the " **O** ".  
Sherlock was nowhere to be found.


	4. Consulting Detective in Distress

"My word!" gasped John.

There was a little bit of blood on the floor, as well.

He looked around a bit more.

Just barely poking out from under the bed was the knife Sherlock used to keep his letters on the mantelpiece. It had blood on it. Other than that, there was not much different in the room, all things considered.

John carefully took out a handkerchief and gently picked up the knife. "I think I found what caused Mrs. Hudson's wounds, Inspector."

"I'll take it down to Donovan. Don't touch anything; this entire flat's a crime scene now."

"I need temporary housing arrangements then."

"Surely you have someone you can stay with, right?"

"Not in town unfortunately."

"Well, I'm sure we can rent you out a hotel room or something, then."

"Thank you so much, Inspector."

Lestrade nodded and left the room with the knife.

"Wait, Inspector. You should also have a guard for Mrs. Hudson when she gets to the hospital. Whoever did this might come back to finish the job."

"Of course." He said before disappearing out of the flat, leaving John alone.

He sighed as he looked around some more.

The message carved onto the wall was eerie and intimidating. Had Sherlock written it, or was it written by someone else? And, for the record, where on Earth had the Consulting Detective even gone?

He didn't dare to call out to him since the Inspector was still about.

Suddenly, he got a text.

He took out his phone and looked at the text.

It was Lestrade saying that something had come up and he needed to leave in a rush, but he would contact him asap when they'd booked him someplace to stay.

He text back then put his phone away.

He almost half-expected for Sherlock to roll out from under the bed, but no such thing occurred.

He sighed as he left the flat.

It felt both peaceful and off-putting to be alone for once.

He missed being around Sherlock.

Again, the question popped into his head of just where exactly Sherlock had gone.

He wished he knew where he went off to.

What if he'd got himself hurt? He _was_ currently recovering from a gunshot wound...

He began to worry more about Sherlock.

The message on the wall and the comment about the killer knowing the ins and outs of their flat didn't help to ease his mind.

He needed to help solve this case as soon as possible.

Just as he thought that, Sherlock's phone, which he still had on him, received a text.

He looked at the text.

It was from an unknown contact and said only, "Tick tock."

John gulped as he put the phone away and went on his way.

Another text.

He looked at the phone again.

It said, "Sherlock is doomed... Dear me, Dr. Watson, dear me."

John paled. The culprit knew he had the cell phone.

Which meant he must have watched Sherlock give it to him.

Which also meant the culprit knew where Sherlock went.

Or worse, that the culprit had lured Sherlock somewhere.

So now the case and perhaps even Sherlock himself is depending on him.

He needed to figure out where the culprit had gone and if he had Sherlock.

He began to look around for any clues.

There were none so far as he could tell. Perhaps he could try to text back.

So that's what he did.

The response was he received was "Well I'll be. The precious doctor really isn't ignoring me. I'm flattered."

"What do you want from Sherlock and I?" he text back.

"What a cute question! Are you looking to rescue your damsel detective?"

"Where have you taken him?" John demanded.

"Oh, honestly, nowhere yet. He's in the back of this car. Well, in the trunk."

"You fiend!"

"I'll be sure to give you a hint once I decide where I'm taking him. No promises that I won't lie though."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I'd like to watch Sherlock's world collapse around him."

"What has he ever do to you?"

"Nothing. He's just a smartass, and I'd like to prove that I'm smartest."

"I'm going to prove you wrong."

"Bring it on, doctor. Just keep in mind that if you try anything stupid, I will hurt Sherlock."

"I won't. Don't you worry about that."

"Oh, how I worry for you. Ha ha!"

"This isn't a joke."

"Everything is a joke."

"Not when there's lives involved."

"No, maybe joke's the wrong word. Everything is a game."

"When I find Sherlock and we catch you, it'll be game over for you."

"Well, if it comes down to that, you'll have won fair and square. But I don't intend to let it go down like that."

"We will beat you."

"Whatever helps you sleep better at night. Wish you were here. Sherlock seems to have removed the gag around his mouth somehow, and he's only shouting about you. Where's John this, what did you do you to John that. Yaawn. Maybe I should shut him up."

"Don't you dare harm a hair on him!"

"Well, I've technically already hurt him... Damned guy's leaking blood all over my damned trunk. A bit late for that plea, doctor!"

"I will find you and make you pay!"

"We'll be waiting in a building on William Morris Way. Tick tock, Dr. Watson."

"I'll be there. Don't you worry."

He got no further response.  
William Morris Way was almost halfway across London from where he was at the moment, however.

He would have to hail a cab in order to get there.

However, it was getting to be late at night. Taxis would be sparse.

But he had to try for Sherlock's sake.

He had to hurry.

He rushed to hail a cab.

After several minutes, he found one.

He quickly got in and told the cabbie where to go.

He started driving, but John felt they weren't going to get there fast enough.

And he hoped he would get there in time to save Sherlock.

This maniac had made it seem like there was a time limit.

He urged the cabbie to go faster.

He did so, however slightly.

He couldn't help but think about what would happen if he didn't get there in time.

What if he _killed_ Sherlock?

His face paled as he thought about that.

There was, frighteningly enough, a good chance that would happen.

He wished the cab would go faster.

Not quite as quickly as John would have liked, the cabbie stopped the vehicle. "This is William Morris Way."

He paid the cabbie and got out.

Now he just had to figure out which building Sherlock had been taken into.

He took a deep breath as he picked a building and went in.

He soon heard Sherlock's phone play its text alert noise.

John read it.

"Wrong building." it said, accompanied by a smiley face emoticon.

He hurried out and tried another building.

"Wrong, but you're getting warmer!"

He tried another building.

"Upstairs." This time, the text was accompanied by a winking emote.

John hurried up the stairs.

It lead him up to a long hallway. All of the doors in this hallway were sealed with chains and padlocks; all of the doors but the one at the furthest end of the hallway. This door was slightly ajar.

He slowly pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The room was pitch-black but for a chair across the room illuminated by a lamp. Tied to this chair, with his head down, was Sherlock, however when he heard the door squeak open, he raised his head, revealing the gag around his mouth. Seeing John, a look of horror slowly emerged in his pale blue eyes.  
From somewhere in the darkness behind Sherlock, someone began clapping.  
"Good grief, Dr. Watson, we were beginning to worry that you would never show up." said a smug, vaguely-Irish voice.

"Let Sherlock go _now._ " John demanded.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You're in no position to make demands." A hand appeared from the darkness and stroked itself along Sherlock's cheekbones, to which the consulting detective surprisingly flinched, and continued, "What do you say, Sherly? You wouldn't mind so much if I, maybe..."  
At this point, John felt the cold barrel of a gun press against the back of his head.  
"... had one of my men blow out the brains of your crush-" The hand quickly retracted itself back into the darkness, and with a gasp from the hidden culprit, Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut.  
" _Oops!_ Oh dear, I've said too much, haven't I... Oh well~!"

"What are you talking about? Sherlock has no silly crush on me!"

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that, Dr. Watson... But I suppose in your defense, he does do a pretty damn good job of hiding his feelings on just about anything, doesn't he? Well, I mean, not now, at least. Look at him, he looks absolutely terrified! It's hilarious what a little bit of blackmail can do!"  
In fact, the culprit appeared to be right; the more he spoke on this topic, the more nervous Sherlock seemed to become. The Consulting Detective was now even quivering slightly.

John didn't know to react.

The hand re-emerged and this time ran itself down the length of Sherlock's long neck.  
"D'aww, it's okay, Sherlock. Soon enough, John Watson will be dead, and you'll never feel anything again. How does that sound?"  
Sherlock didn't flinch this time. His quivering slowly began to cease, and he was starting to look a tad angry.

"You are sick."

The culprit revealed his face, a look of complete madness plastered on. "Which one of us are you talking to?"  
Before John could answer, the man pulled out a gun and aimed it at John.  
"C'mon, Sherlock." He said as he roughly ripped the gag from Sherlock's mouth. "Say it's the truth. Admit your feelings. Else I'll take your silence as him meaning nothing to you, and I'll shoot him."

John looked at Sherlock with a scared look.

Sherlock watched, but kept his mouth shut.  
The culprit stepped closer to John. "I'll shoot him right in the forehead. I'll destroy his silly little human brain."  
Sherlock shifted his gaze to the floor, still not saying anything.

John backed away, scared for his life.

The presence of another armed man behind him prevented him from going very far. The culprit stepped closer, the barrel of his gun now inches from John's forehead.  
"Say anything, Sherlock. Anything at all, and we'll know that Dr. Watson means the world to you."  
Sherlock's lips parted to say something, but he opted to instead close his mouth with that comment.

John sighed in defeat as he looked down.

The culprit smiled and began to press down on the trigger.  
" _Stop!_ " Sherlock suddenly shouted.  
"Oh~?" The culprit looked at Sherlock, seeming amused.  
" _Stop it **NOW!**_ "  
"See? I knew it was true~!" The madman said as he turned around, aimed his gun at Sherlock, and pulled the trigger, to which the gun clicked.  
Sherlock stared in awe as the culprit started to chuckle.  
"I bluffed. Got you again, Sherlock."

John nearly fainted.

"You're so gullible, Sherlock. So... _stupid_ , really."  
At this comment, Sherlock looked down at his own lap. "I'm not stupid." He mumbled.  
"You really _are_. Anyway, I think I've had enough fun for one day. I'll leave you two to whatever the heck it is you two do for a while, but try not to miss me too much, 'cause I will be back." The culprit walked past John, and with his men leading him down the hall, he turned back before the stairs. "Oh, and by the way, Dr. Watson... The name's James Moriarty, but you can call me Jim. Smell you later~!" Just like that, Moriarty left.

As soon as he left, John went over to Sherlock and untied him.

Sherlock pulled his hands into his lap and started rubbing his reddened wrists quietly.

"We have to come up with a plan of escape."

"We don't need one." Sherlock muttered. "He's not going to stop us from leaving. He'll have no trouble finding us later on, wherever we are."

"If that's the case then we'll come up with a plan to stop him."

"He's not going down unless he's taking me with him, John..."

"You can't think like that."

"I also can't lie. That's what he told me, and he meant it."

"There has to be a way to beat him, Sherlock."

"The only way is for me to allow him to drag me with him to Hell or wherever he ends up."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing come out of your mouth, Sherlock."

"There _is no_ _other way_ , John. He's _just_ like me. He's what I would have become had I not decided to become a detective."

John sighed as he shook his head.

"... Why did you come here? Was it to save me?"

"Of course it was, Sherlock! I didn't want to lose you!"

Sherlock took a long moment to gaze at John before he lowered his head again. "That was really dangerous and stupid of you. But... thank you, John."

"You're welcome, Sherlock."

For a moment, an awkward silence lingered between them.  
"... Um, John... What he said... uh..."

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"About..." Sherlock cleared his throat. "About me having a crush on you..."

"Was it true?"

Apparently not having expected this question, Sherlock stammered. "Well... No. I mean, yeah, no. Of... Of course not. That would be stupid; love is a dangerous disadvantage in any and all scenarios. So, of course... I can't. _I don't._ I meant I don't."

"Oh, I see. He was using it to catch me off guard." he said; seeming a bit hurt but trying to hide it.

"Besides, you keep on saying that you're completely straight whenever anyone pokes fun at us. Because of that, it wouldn't work anyway even if I was interested in you in that way, but I consider myself to be married to my work, so..."

"I understand, Sherlock."

"Do you, really? I can't help but notice you look a little disappointed. ... Did... Did you want me to have a crush on you?"

"Let's just get out of this place." John quickly said; changing the subject.

"You did, didn't you?" Sherlock asked, standing up now.

"Just drop it, Sherlock." he said as he started walking.

"Oh, don't try so hard to avoid the question, John. Your body language already answered it for me." Sherlock said matter-of-factly as he followed. "Dinner?" He then added, asking if John was hungry.

"Alright."

When they got downstairs, they were surprised to see Moriarty and four of his men still there.  
" _Syke~!_ You didn't really think I'd leave _that_ easily, did you?" The madman sung as his men aimed their guns at the duo.


	5. Spicing It Up

John scowled a bit.

Moriarty motioned to two of his men, and one of them stepped forward, quickly getting John in a headlock and putting their gun against his head.  
Sherlock's hands immediately shot into the air. "Hey, wait, no. No, no. Don't do this."  
"Don't do _what_ , Sherlock?" Moriarty asked quizzically. "Don't shoot your beloved doctor? Because you know that's what I intend to do in the long run anyway."

John didn't even try to break free.

"It's both or none, Jim." Sherlock said. "You kill him, you'll have to kill me."  
"Is that supposed to scare me somehow?"  
Sherlock stepped closer to Moriarty, and the madman raised his gun slowly, aiming it at Sherlock, who lowered his hand to hold the gun against his own forehead.  
" _You tell me_." Sherlock replied in a low voice.

John looked over at Sherlock.

Moriarty used his head to gesture at his two remaining men, and they approached Sherlock, grabbing his arms roughly and restraining him.  
"You just had to make everything boring, didn't you, Sherlock." Moriarty said as he lift his gun and began beating Sherlock across either temple with the butt of it.

"Stop it!"

Moriarty got rougher, now beginning to draw blood with each hit. "Down!"  
This command made the two men throw Sherlock to the floor. Moriarty straddled the detective, grabbing his messy dark curls, and started beating the back of his head against the floor as hard as he could.

" _STOP IT!_ "

Moriarty did in fact stop, and he immediately began laughing. "Oh, you two are so precious. Don't worry, dear doctor, I'm not going to kill him. He's too pathetic to kill. I'm just going to scramble his oh-so-great brain a little. I want to see if he can rebuild from nothing." He leaned closer to Sherlock. "Do you hear that, Sherlock? You're pathetic. You're pathetic, you're boring, you're a burden to everyone, and last but certainly not least, you're _stupid_ ; a complete _moron_."  
Sherlock made no sound.  
Moriarty stood, frowning, and kicked Sherlock once for good measure, making the detective's body twitch.

"You're the one who is pathetic!"

"Oh, tell that to someone who cares." Moriarty utters, standing up and brushing himself off. "At least now things might get interesting around here. A little bit of head trauma always spices things up in the movies."

"You are a sick fiend!"

"Aren't I~?" Moriarty turned and began walking out. The two men restraining John slowly backed away after him, cautiously aiming their guns at him in case he tried anything funny as they were leaving.  
"Have a good night, Dr. Watson."

He ignored him and went to tend to Sherlock.

The detective was out cold, bleeding profusely from his temples and the back of his scalp.

He began to treat the wounds the best he could.

Sherlock would occasionally twitch and groan as he did this.

Soon he had his wounds bandaged.

"Mmn..." Sherlock, awakening somewhat, tried to open his eyes.

"Easy, Sherlock."

"Gh... J-... John...?"

"Yes it's me, Sherlock."

"Are... Are you... okay...?"

"I'm fine, Sherlock, but worry about yourself. You're the one injured."

"Oh, I don't care..." Sherlock moaned dismissively. "I just... thank God he didn't... hurt you... _agh_ , my head..."

He gently and carefully helped him up.

Sherlock grit his teeth. "Oh, God, everything feels so... out of order."

"He did beat you senseless."

"I... I can hardly think, John..."

"Just relax and rest for now."

Sherlock leaned against him heavily for support.

John gently held him up.

"The East Wind..." Sherlock breathed.

"The East Wind?"

"Is it... Is it coming for me yet...?"

"What are you talking about?"

"M-my brother... He always used to tell me... about The East Wind... It comes for... the useless, stupid people... People unworthy... and it plucks them up... takes them away..." Sherlock droned.

"You're not stupid or useless, Sherlock! You're one of the brightest men I know!"

"Then why was I... always the one that got taken away in his stories...?"

"To tease you!"

"Mycroft... isn't the teasing type..."

"Sherlock, don't start doubting yourself."

"You really don't think I'm stupid...?"

"You know I always speak the truth, Sherlock."

Sherlock leaned a little closer against him. "Thanks, John..."

"You're welcome, Sherlock."

Sherlock went quiet, not having anything else to say, apparently.

"Get some rest. You need it."

"Where are we going...?"

"Nowhere since he won't let us leave."

"He... He will..." Sherlock insisted.

"No, he won't."

"J-just trust me, John..."

"But how do you know he will?"

"I..." Sherlock tried to think why he thought that, but seemed to have immense difficulty and only caused himself to gain an even worse headache. "I don't know..."

"Rest, Sherlock."

"John..."

"What is it, Sherlock?"

"M-... my Mind Palace... It's... different now..." He said, a hint of fear in his voice.

"What are you talking about?"

"I remember everything b-by storing it in certain parts of my Mind Palace... that way I can find it again... but, I... Everything's different... I'm... lost in it..."

"You were beaten in the head. You just need time to recover."

"Too much information... leaking..."

"Sherlock, just calm down and rest."

"I can't..." Vague pain was in the Consulting Detective's words.

"This is my fault. I shouldn't have tried to have you leave with me."

"What...? John, what do you mean...?"

"I was foolish to think he would just let us walk out in one piece..."

" _Dammit_ , John-!" Sherlock suddenly grabbed John and started shaking him. "Don't you _dare_ start blaming yourself- I was the one that _told_ you he would-...!"

John was lost for words.

Sherlock slumped against him, in too much pain to continue.

"Now you just hurt yourself, Sherlock."

"Also not your fault..." Sherlock said through grit teeth.

"Sherlock, please just rest."

Sherlock huffed quietly.

"I'm serious."

"I would, if my brain would shut up."

John changed the bandage. "There. That should help. There wasn't enough pressure."

It didn't seem to help stop the reason of Sherlock's plight, but he succumbed to rest anyway.

John tried to rest as well.

It was no use; he was too restless.

And he was too worried about Sherlock as well.

Speaking of, the Consulting Detective was beginning to groan.

He looked over at him.

The taller man looked rather distressed, and he subconsciously pulled at his dark, curly hair, continuing to moan and groan.

He took his hand away from his hair.

The detective started to sound almost panicked, and he thrashed his head about once or twice every five or so seconds.

He tried to get him to calm him down.

Sherlock started yelling weakly.

John tried to calm him down.

"Too much...! Too much, too much, TOO MUCH-...!"

"Sherlock, calm down!"

His eyes shot open and he looked John up and down before beginning to spit out observations and deductions... most of which, however, seemed to get mixed up, creating weird, senseless, hybrid deductions. It was as if Sherlock was experiencing an overload without his Mind Palace, without being able to, in clerical terms, sort everything out and ignore it for the time being.

John gently grabbed him and shook him. "Sherlock, snap out of it! Please!"

"I need to delete something-... I need to delete everything-...!" Sherlock gasped, referring to his ability to forget ("delete") anything he deems unimportant in a moment's notice.

"Calm down!"

He balled his hands into fists, furrowed his brow, grit his teeth, and shut his eyes tightly; he was beginning to purge things from his mind just to make room for normal thinking. The way his brain worked was causing everything he had stored in his Mind Palace to come forward to be "re-sorted", but with nowhere to put any of it, he had no way of repressing any of it; purging all of it was a desperate measure he wouldn't normally take, but he felt he'd go mad if the thoughts didn't stop.

" _Sherlock!_ "

Suddenly, his face relaxed a bit, though his brow almost seemed to furrow more. "John... No, no, can't... can't delete John..." He murmured absent-mindedly, making a gesture with his hands as if pushing something aside to continue purging his mind.

"Sherlock?"

"Stop getting in the way... It's hard to control what I delete..." Sherlock made the gesture again; in his shattered Mind Palace, the version of John he had made as a "living" bank to store his memories of John was forcing Sherlock to focus on itself with everything the real John did. If Sherlock wasn't careful, he might accidentally delete this storage of John- related things trying to delete the rest, which would in his own opinion distress him greatly.

John now was really worried for Sherlock.

Sherlock resumed mentally purging things he'd remembered, as his current line of thought was still being overloaded by them.

John wished he could help his dear friend.

It seemed like it could take a while, since Sherlock had stored a lot in his Mind Palace.

The only thing he could think of to help was to hold him.

Sherlock instinctively clung to him.

John blushed but still held him.

" _John_..." The name was a whisper past Sherlock's lips, barely audible and seemingly unintentional.

"Yes, Sherlock?" he asked, not realizing that.

Sherlock almost seemed to hold onto him tighter.

He sighed and held him more.

The Consulting Detective kept his eyes shut.

John got closer to him. "Sherlock?"

" _John_..." He whispered again.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

He fell silent, not quite conscious.

John sighed.

After a few moments, Sherlock slowly opened his eyes.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" John asked.

He blinked a few times quietly before noticing how close John was to him. "... Why are we so close together?"

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but you seemed to calm down when I held you. I'll let go now." he said as he let him go.

For a split-second, he almost seemed to oppose being released, but he quickly (and rather awkwardly) released John to allow himself to be let go.

John sighed a bit.

"You seem disappointed, John."

"It's nothing, Sherlock."

"Is it? Can I do anything to take away your disappointment?"

"Just drop it, Sherlock."

"Alright."

John sat down away from Sherlock.

Sherlock examined him with a puzzled look on his face; he knew something was up with his partner, but he was no longer entirely sure of what.

John tried to get some sleep.

Sherlock shakily stood up and walked toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Outside."

"Why?"

"I need fresh air. I can feel my brain cells dying in here."

"Just be careful."

It appeared for a second that Sherlock had a response in mind, but he instead bit his tongue and stumbled outside.

John sighed a bit.

Soon, Sherlock stepped back inside. "Why are we waiting around here, John?"

"We can't leave remember? Moriarty won't let us."

"Well, I mean, it's not like anyone's outside to stop us."

"That might be but in your condition there's no way we could get away far enough."

"I don't know if that would be a problem..."

"What do you mean?"

"If no one's guarding us, they don't care where we go. They're confident that we won't escape them no matter where we go. So perhaps we should just leave here anyway. It's no fun, succumbing to fate."

"And do what after we do?"

"What we normally do, for as long as we can."

John sighed as he stood up.

"... Hm."

"What is it?"

"... Uh... What is it that we normally do?"


	6. Amnesia

John's face paled. Sherlock had forgotten his time as a famous detective.

Sherlock slouched a bit out of awkwardness. "... John? You... You look pale. Are you alright?"

"Y-yes, I'm fine, but you're not, Sherlock."

"What's wrong with me? I feel fine."

"You deleted from your mind what we do, Sherlock."

"... Yes? That's why I'm asking you what it is that we do, John."

"We _solve crimes_ , Sherlock. You're the greatest detective of our time."

"We solve crimes? Sounds boring."

"Not the crimes we solve. We solve the crimes that even have Scotland Yard baffled."

"Scotland _what_?" Sherlock blinked dismissively. "What kind of case are we covering right now?"

John explained everything about the case to him, hoping it would spark something in him.

Sherlock didn't seem to remember anything, but he did mumble, "That does sound interesting... A killer is trying to frame me? Very clever on their part."

"Yes, and the culprit is the same man who is torturing us."

"Are we one hundred percent certain of that?"

"Yes, Sherlock."

"Who did this person kill again?"

"A woman who worked at the morgue who had a crush on you."

"Then I must have known her, even in passing... The killer was trying to gain my attention..." Sherlock suddenly seemed to reach a small epiphany. "And then he got you involved! My God, he _is_ clever!"

"Yes. He's like an evil version of you if you had turned to a life of crime."

"Ooh, this just keeps getting more and more interesting!"

"Yes, and he nearly killed our landlady as well."

" _Yes!_ " Sherlock shouted, excited. "Yes, yes, I love it! Come on, John, we've got a killer to find!"

"So you remember now?"

"Not a thing." He answered honestly. "But who cares! I just have to meet this cleverness-doppelganger who so desperately wants me." He seemed almost lovestruck by the idea.

John's hopes and heart sank like a stone as he shook his head. "No. He's the reason you can't remember."

Sherlock shrugged. "All the better for him. Isn't it easier to get someone once they basically have to restart? Though, given, he probably anticipated that I would forget you... Then again, if he really is clever, he would know that's impossible."

"So what do you want to do?"

"I need to meet him."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"He wants you _dead!_ "

"I don't think he does."

"What do you mean?"

"I wouldn't want to kill off the only other person on the planet like myself. I think he just wants me to suffer so I'll revert and be like him."

"Perhaps."

"I want to meet him."

"Alright." John sighed.

"Let's go try to find him."

He nodded and walked with him.

"Now, where would someone like him have gone..."

"I'm not sure, Sherlock."

"I'm pulling up blanks as well."

John sighed.

"... Dinner?"

"Alright."

"... You may have to lead the way. I have no idea where we are right now."

He nodded and helped him.

"... John?"

"Yes?"

"What do you think of me?"

John looked at him quickly. "Why did you ask me that?"

Sherlock's pale blue eyes widened a bit. "I'm curious... Not a good question, I reckon?"

"We're partners and friends; nothing more."

"Yes, however you want it. But you're not answering my question."

"It doesn't matter right now, Sherlock."

Sherlock fell silent for a moment. "... Uh, sorry, did... Did you assume I was asking what you thought of me as a romantic interest? Because that's... well, that's... not what I meant, John."

"Then what?"

"Just... Just in general. And for the record, I do consider myself married to... Oh, I had a thought going and I suddenly lost it. Anyway, it doesn't matter." Sherlock said, briefly remembering his typical excuse about being married to his work before losing it again. "Let's just keep walking."

"Married to work."

"Oh! Oh... _Oh_." Sherlock stopped, his hands on his head. "Oh, that makes my head hurt. Don't say that."

"That's what you used to say; you were married to your work."

Sherlock groaned in slight pain. "Don't... say that..."

"Fine."

The Consulting Detective gently tried to shake his head clear of pain.

"Sorry, Sherlock."

"It's... It's okay. I think I'm fine now."

"I wish we never took this case."

"Don't say that, either. Hearing you say that breaks my heart."

"Why is that?"

"Taking exciting cases is what we do together, right? If we skipped out on a case, we'd skip out on another, and then we'd never do anything fun together."

"I suppose so."

"My being hurt only makes the case more interesting."

"But it feels like part of you is gone..." he sighed.

Sherlock didn't reply to this, as he apparently had nothing to say.

John sighed and continued walking with him.

Sherlock looked up at the night sky above them. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Yes, it is, Sherlock." he said.

Sherlock didn't normally care about anything as trivial as the night sky, but he continued to stare up at it, as if enthralled by it.

John looked up at it as well.

"Look at the stars..."

"Yeah..."

Sherlock took his attention off of the sky and instead gazed at John.

John didn't notice.

He stared at John with the same expression of near-childlike wonder.

This John did notice and looked over at him. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock quickly looked away and cleared his throat. "Nothing, nothing, it's nothing."

John looked down before looking back at the sky.

"... Uh, John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

Sherlock fell silent.

He sighed and looked away.

"I, uh, need to ask you something..."

"Yes?"

Sherlock paused. "I don't know how to phrase it..."

"Try."

"No, I... I mean, you've..." Sherlock cleared his throat. "You've already answered the question before."

"What do you mean?"

"You... You say that we're nothing but friends and colleagues... But, uh... Hypothetically speaking, what if I were... to have a crush on you? I mean, what if I could and did? I... Just, never mind. I don't know what I'm saying. Must be the head injury talking."

"Yeah, must be..." John said as he walked.

Sherlock stared down at his shoes as he limped along beside him.

Soon they got to the apartment the inspector had set up for John.

They quickly ran into the issue that there was only one bed, since Lestrade had not thought Sherlock would accompany John.

"You take the bed, Sherlock. I'll sleep on the couch." offered John.

"What? No, John, I'm not all that tired. You take the bed..."

"No, it's quite alright, Sherlock. _You_ take the bed."

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but then he stopped himself. "I had an idea, but I don't think you would like it, so I'll simply tell you again to take the bed. I plan to stay up thinking for a bit anyway."

"Alright, Sherlock." he sighed as he laid on the bed.

Sherlock quietly, slowly paced.

John slowly fell asleep.

He started to dream.

Which caused him to toss and turn.

Sherlock noticed and stepped a bit closer to the bed.

John tossed more in his sleep.

"John?" Sherlock leaned toward him and gently shook him. "John, wake up."

John awoke with a start.

Sherlock held his shoulders. "Relax, John, it's me. You appeared to be having a nightmare."

John slowly calmed down. "I'm alright now."

The taller man released him. "What was it you were dreaming about?" He asked.

"I don't remember."

Sherlock resumed pacing. "Then go back to sleep, John. You only slept for about fifteen minutes."

"You need sleep as well, Sherlock"

"I'm fine for now."

"If you're sure."

"I am."

"Alright, Sherlock."

"Get some sleep, John."

He nodded and went back to sleep.

Sherlock kept his eye on him.

He seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile a bit.

John snuggled into the blankets.

Sherlock pantomimed playing a violin for him, but soon stopped, as he hadn't yet fully remembered his passion for playing the violin.

John continued to sleep.

Without really realizing it, Sherlock stopped pacing around and simply stood by the edge of the bed, looking down at John and watching him sleep.

He seemed content to see John sleeping peacefully.

Gently as to not wake him up, Sherlock sat down on the side of the bed and turned his head to continue gazing at him.

John continued to sleep.

"John..." Sherlock said quietly, "How is it, I wonder, that you can be kind to me...? I mean, everyone else hates me... Why on earth don't you...?"

"You're my friend..." he said in his sleep.

Sherlock looked at John again. "... But... why...?" He asked after a brief pause.

John only snored a reply.

Sherlock sighed and turned his head away. Subconsciously, he muttered, "... What do you really think of me though, John..."

John snored a bit more.

With a slight huff, Sherlock stood and resumed pacing.

John snuggled into the blankets.

There was a gentle, melodic knock at the door, and Sherlock's pale blue eyes flicked to the door. When he heard nothing more, his eyes flicked back to John, though he otherwise remained motionless.

The good doctor turned over and continued to sleep.


	7. Trust

Sherlock walked to the door and carefully opened it. Poking his head outside, he saw no one. As he was closing the door however, from the down the hall he heard a vaguely Irish voice call in a hushed tone, " _Sher~lock~_..."  
The Consulting Detective froze for a moment before stepping out of the apartment, quietly closing the door behind himself.

At that moment John woke up a bit. "Sherlock...?"

He could hear Sherlock moving down the hall.

He got out of bed and followed after him.

"Who are you?" Sherlock called down the hall.  
"John Watson is hiding something, Sherlock... Can you trust him?" A voice replied.  
"Who is this? Show yourself!"  
"How do you know whether or not he's telling the truth?"

' _I'm not hiding anything._ ' John thought as he listened.

"I trust him!"  
"But should you?" The voice sounded like Moriarty.  
Sherlock said nothing in response to this.

John rushed over. "Come out, Moriarty!"

Sherlock looked over at John as Moriarty fell silent.

"Have nothing to say now, hmm?"

Moriarty emerged from around the corner. "Aah, good old Dr. Watson. Or should I just call you John? You don't really have any special type of rank..."  
"What are you talking about?" Sherlock cut in. "He was an army doctor in Afghanistan!"  
"He's lying to you, Sherlock. Tsk, tsk, tsk."

"Why are you doing this, Moriarty?"

Moriarty shrugged, a confident smirk on his face. "Look, Sherlock. He even knows who I am."  
"So what?"  
"We've met."  
"Your point?"  
"You and I however, haven't. Where are my manners! I'm Jim Moriarty. I've decided to save you from the lies your so-called friend spews at you."  
Sherlock glared at Moriarty, though he looked almost uncertain as to where he stood in his conflict.

"I haven't lied to Sherlock!"

"It breaks my heart how even now, while he is so vulnerable, you would still keep up the facade." Moriarty said, feigned sadness in his voice. "Who do you trust more, Sherlock?"  
"I..."  
"I, unlike the good doctor here, am not afraid to admit that I admire you greatly, Sherlock. I would never lie to you. Not when we are so much alike..." The criminal said maliciously.

"Don't trust him, Sherlock! He killed one person already and sent another to the hospital just to mess with your head!"

Sherlock stepped closer to Moriarty. "You... You're the killer..."  
" _Am I?_ " Moriarty asked. This one question seemed to make Sherlock recoil in uncertainty. "For all you know, Sherlock, John could be the killer. Think about it. He lives with you. No one would suspect him; they'd all suspect you."  
Sherlock swallowed hard. "John would _never_."  
"He's already killed for you once." Moriarty said with a shrug, revealing he knew more about them than they had given him credit for.

"That was to save his life! He would have died if I didn't!"

"My point is, Sherlock... Can you really trust anyone?"  
Sherlock again gulped, this time staying silent.  
"Oh, come on. Follow me, Sherlock. You're clever. _I'm_ clever. John's an idiot. Who can you trust more with your fate; someone just like you, who can appreciate you, or an idiot who just thinks you're a _friend?_ "

John's heart sank as those words stung him hard.

"I choose J-"  
"Oh, Sherlock, you want so dearly to be an idiot so that everyone will accept you... You don't have to be! _I'll_ accept you the way you are. I'm the only person that will. The only _creature_ that will, at least after..." Moriarty paused and cocked his head to the side. "... _Redbeard_."  
Sherlock's eyes widened at that name, and his jaw fell a bit slack. The name appeared to mean a lot to him for some reason, so much so that he was now petrified.

John didn't say anything to counter; he knew he lost as he hung his head at the thought of losing the greatest friend he'd ever had.

"So now... Choose a side, Sherlock. Are you going to be an idiot and stay on the side of the angels, or will you join me? I mean, look at John. He's surrendered. He's given up on you already, Sherlock."  
Sherlock took a step backwards, closer to John.  
"Hm?"  
"I choose John."  
"Oh, don't be stupid. Get over here, c'mon."  
" _I choose John._ " Sherlock repeated. "I will _always_ choose John. The day I don't is the day Sherlock Holmes is dead."  
"Well, one Sherlock Holmes is already dead inside you. It died with Redbeard."  
"And it _lives_ with John Watson." Sherlock replied determinedly.

Hope rose in John as he looked at Sherlock and then suddenly hugged him tightly.

Sherlock froze up for a moment, startled by the hug, but soon relaxed.  
"I see. You still like your pets more than people." Moriarty groaned. "I wonder how hard you would fall if I put him down..."  
Sherlock proceeded to wrap his arms around John, holding him close protectively, close enough for John to feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest and his quick breathing.  
"Maybe another time. Wrong day to die, Sherlock." Moriarty pivoted around and looked at them over his shoulder. "Please do watch out for the sands of time, Sherlock... _For they will fall on your new dog much faster than they will on you and I_."  
Sherlock seemed to pull John even closer with that remark as Moriarty laughed.

John teared up and hugged Sherlock tighter.

"I'll be seeing you, Sherlock. Until then." Moriarty casually left them there, disappearing around the corner and heading for the stairwell.  
Sherlock let out a huff of relief and leaned his head against John's.

"Thank you, Sherlock..."

"Did you really think I'd leave you? Maybe you really _are_ an idiot..." He teased gently, smiling a bit and closing his eyes.

"Don't ever leave me..."

Sherlock pressed their foreheads together. "I'd never leave you, John." He breathed.

John teared up happily and snuggled into him.

Sherlock's face flushed a bit as he kept his arms wrapped around the shorter man.

He smiled happily.

Sherlock was content like this.

"Sherlock...?"

"Yes, John...?"

"I-I..."

Sherlock opened his eyes, gazing at John curiously. As they were still very close together, John could feel Sherlock's heart rate speed up a tad.

John suddenly kissed him.

Sherlock's eyes widened and his body tensed from the abruptness of the kiss. It only took him a few seconds, however, to seem to relax again, and he closed his eyes, awkwardly trying to return the kiss.

The shorter man continued the kiss.

Sherlock placed one of his hands on the back of John's neck as he continued to accept and return the kiss. He was a surprising good kisser, considering he wasn't one to engage in anything like this very often.

John moaned a bit as the kiss continued.

Sherlock took his sweet time in breaking the kiss.

John panted a bit as the kiss was broken.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at himself. "Oh, to hell with it." He muttered before he kissed John again, harder and more passionately this time.

John kissed back with the same passion.

Sherlock stumbled back, pulling John along, until he was leaning back against a wall, his fingers running through the good doctor's short hair.

John smiled as he chuckled happily.

The kiss broken again, Sherlock chuckled a bit as well. "Looks like we _do_ have some chemistry..." He mumbled.

"It seems so, Sherlock." smiled John.

After a brief moment of silence, Sherlock cleared his throat. "I... That was... _good_. I enjoyed that." He stammered.

"So did I."

"We should... get some more rest..."

"Agreed."

Being trapped against the wall by John, Sherlock quietly stayed still, staring at him.

John blushed a bit as he tried to let Sherlock up.

The Consulting Detective stood upright, brushing himself off and adjusting his Belstaff coat nervously.

John blushed as well as he helped Sherlock back to the room.

"Why, uh... Why did you kiss me there, anyway?" Sherlock asked innocently enough.

"B-because I... I _love_ you, Sherlock..." the doctor blushed heavily.

Sherlock's pale face flushed once more. He'd had the haunting suspicion that was the case, but he had dismissed it as being stupid to think John liked him at all. Now that he knew it wasn't so stupid after all, he was stunned into silent admiration. He simply stared at John with wide eyes, his lips parted slightly, not saying a word.

John blushed even more.

Sherlock suddenly kissed him once again.

He happily kissed back.

They somehow ended up tripping up and falling over the bed.

John heavily blushed.

"Oh, I... I'm sorry, I didn't realize how close the bed was..." Sherlock chuckled nervously as he tried to get back up.

"It's quite alright, Sherlock. I don't mind."

Sherlock looked down at him. He was going in for another kiss when suddenly one of the two cellphones in John's pocket started to ring.

John grumbled and answered it.

It was Sherlock's phone that received the call. The person on the other end, a voice John didn't recognize, asked, "Is Mr. Holmes there?"

"Who is calling for him?" he asked.

"Someone who is interested in meeting the world's only Consulting Detective." was the answer the calm, deep man's voice gave.  
Sherlock looked at John questioningly, wondering quietly if the call was for him.

"It's for you, Sherlock." he said as he handed him the phone.

Sherlock took the cellphone and put it to his ear. "Who is this?"  
He silently listened to the person on the other end of the phone, and soon slowly stood up, appearing a bit horrified by whatever he was hearing. "How do you know this? What do you want from me?"

John quickly looked over at Sherlock.

Sherlock's lips were quivering ever so slightly. "... Fine. I'll be there." After a pause, he added with obedience in his voice, " _Alone_. Goodbye, Mr. Magnussen." With that, he slowly moved the phone away from his ear and vacantly ended the call.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, what happened?"

"I need to go. I want you to follow, but lag behind enough to not be caught." Sherlock readjusted his coat and his scarf and started heading for the door, not even bothering to explain anything.

"Understood."

He pivoted around in the doorway, shaking the phone in his hand a bit. "Is this phone mine? I couldn't help but notice you're listed as a contact on it."

"Yes, that is your phone."

"I'll text you the address."

"Please be careful."

Sherlock left, as he walked down the halls, he text John the address to a small cafe near Baker Street.

John carefully followed him.

The Consulting Detective walked far ahead of him, stumbling every few steps, and glancing at his phone. He was likely using a digital map to figure out where he was going if he had deleted his mental map of London from his head.

John continued to follow far behind.

Soon he watched as Sherlock came to the front of the cafe. Parked in front of it was a black limousine, and as he cautiously approached, one of the doors opened, and out stepped a man with a suit and glasses.  
"Welcome, Mr. Holmes." greeted the man as he stepped closer to Sherlock, who took half a pace back. The man reached out, presumably for a handshake, but upon giving the man his hand, Sherlock was surprised to have his hand kissed the way one would greet a woman of great beauty.

John was startled to see this.

"Please," The man gestured to the inside of the limo. "Grace me with your presence for a while. Let me take you on a drive, perhaps a night on the town."  
"What's this about?" Sherlock asked.  
"I want to get to know what I don't already know about you."  
"And what would that be?"  
The man looked Sherlock up and down, seemingly checking him out. Sherlock dismissed this gaze as meaning nothing. "I know everything about you emotionally. However, physically... I'm _curious_." He said innocently.  
Sherlock didn't understand. "Excuse me?"  
"Please, step into the limousine, Mr. Holmes."

John growled softly as he started to feel jealous.

Sherlock was shaking his head when the somewhat-taller man clamped his hand down on his shoulder and whispered something, his mouth close to Sherlock's ear. Whatever he whispered seemed to scare Sherlock, and next thing John knew, the Consulting Detective was stepping into the limousine, being assisted by the man.  
Adjusting his glasses, the suited man looked over in John's direction as if he knew he was there, and smirked slightly.

John couldn't wait any longer and ran towards the car. "Let him go!" he yelled at him.

The man quickly stepped into the limousine himself, closing the door behind him as the vehicle started to move.

John tried to run faster to catch up.

It was no use.

He slowly stopped running.


	8. Rescue Mission

Sherlock was in danger. He had to figure out where that limousine was going.

Luckily he saw the license plate and was able to write down the number.

The quicker he was able to do something to save Sherlock, the better.

He decided to let the Inspector know about this.

When he called, Lestrade answered after two rings. "Hello?"

"Inspector, I have much to tell you." Watson started before he told the good Inspector everything that had happened.

"Do you know who it was that took Sherlock?"

"No, but I did get the license plate number."

"Tell me it. We'll run it through the system and see if we can figure out who it belongs to."

"It's WCP98J3."

"Alright, I'll run it through. Shouldn't take more than a couple minutes."

"Thank you, Inspector."

After a minute or two, Lestrade told him, "It's licensed to a Charles A. Magnussen."

"What do you have on him?"

"Not much... I hate to bring it up, but isn't Sherlock's brother part of the British Intel? We have a suspicious lack of information on this guy..."

"He won't help."

"You never know."

"He didn't help before."

"Well, try again. He might have more on him than we do. Hopefully."

"I'll try again."

"Call me back if he doesn't help."

"Alright. I will."

Lestrade hung up.

John tried to call Holmes' brother.

Mycroft picked up. "Yes, what is it?"

John told him what was happening.

"I'm sorry, hold on. Who did you say has Sherlock?"

"Charles A. Magnussen."

"Oh, my _God_." There was a small pause on Mycroft's end before he continued. "If you value your personal information, do _not_ associate yourself with Charles Augustus Magnussen or Sherlock Holmes until I give the word that it's safe. I will have my men deal with this matter personally."

"I take it you have heard of this man before."

"Charles Augustus Magnussen is a madman with enough information to blackmail the entire country. If you think Sherlock and I know a lot, you haven't seen anything yet. My brother is much weaker than I. He's been used as a tool before in a case involving blackmail. We'd best pray that he isn't used again; I'll have no choice but to let the charges fall on him if it does."

"He's weaker now. He suffered a severe beating to his head and was forced to 'delete' many things from his memory."

"Oh dear. This is worse than I expected. This is _so much worse_ than I expected. I'm sending men to fetch Sherlock immediately before Magnussen has a chance to corrupt him." His choice of words was somewhat alarming. He hadn't chosen to say something gentler, but had instead decided to suggest that if left to his own devices, Magnussen may very well leave Sherlock broken and on the wrong side of the conflict.

"Alright. I hope they'll make it to him in time."

"... John, I believe there's something you should know before I tell you to lay low."

"What is it?"

"Magnussen preys on people's weaknesses, or as he calls them, their Pressure Points. Sherlock has plenty... in fact, he has far too many. However, he will prey first on the two most prominent. ... When we get him back, don't be surprised if Sherlock doesn't want to be around you for a while. I'm almost completely certain his attachment to you is his biggest weakness."

"I think that's the point Moriarty was making too."

"I may be lacking in tact when I say this, but this may impact whatever relationship you have with Sherlock greatly."

"I understand."

"In the worst case scenario, it may even change him completely. He's done that once before. He used to be such a happy little idiot, and then he lost something he cared for and he became who he is now. What I'm trying to say, basically, is that you should prepare yourself for the worst."

"I will."

"We will try to get him back. Lay low, now, John. Don't get anymore involved than you already are. Keep yourself safe, for Sherlock's sake." With this, Mycroft hung up on him.

John sighed and went back to the apartment.

It sounded unbelievable that Sherlock could completely flip if they didn't rescue him in time.

He hoped they would save him.

What if it was already too late?

John began to pace with worry.

He had only just realized how fond he was of Sherlock, and now he was about to lose him?

How would he survive if Sherlock stayed away?

If Sherlock ended up hating him after this because of whatever Magnussen were to say to him, he felt as if that would be one of the worst feelings in the world.

He began to worry more.

An hour and a half passed, though it felt more like an eternity, before John's phone started to ring.

John quickly answered it.

It was Mycroft. "It's been done. We got Sherlock back; I have him in the other room."

"How is he?" he quickly asked.

Mycroft paused, and when he resumed speaking, he tried to avoid the question. "I'm going to question him a bit, see what he was told." Again, another pause. "... Would you like to speak to him first? Just for proof that I'm not lying, you know."

"Yes, please!"

There was a brief shuffle and a few murmurs, and then Sherlock's voice, cold and distant sounding, said, "Hello?"

"Sherlock, it's John. Are you alright?" he asked him with concern.

"I'm... _fine_. Just fine." Still, Sherlock sounded almost traumatized.

"Did that fiend harm you in any way?"

"He left a mark on my neck..." was all Sherlock said.

"I'm just happy you're alive, Sherlock."

Sherlock was quiet for a long moment. "... John...?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"He..." Sherlock groaned and shuddered in disgust, an emotion not common to him. "Never mind. I... I can't talk about it right now."

"Alright, Sherlock."

There was another brief shuffle, and then he was talking to Mycroft again. "I think he's done talking for a few minutes. He gave the phone back to me and went back to looking horrified."

"Horrified? What happened to him, Mycroft?"

"That's classified for your own good. All I can say is that the way we found them..." He seemed to try to think of a way to phrase it gently. "... Magnussen is a strange man, but I never suspected he would be so forward with my little brother on such an intimate action..."

John's eyes widened as he felt his anger start to rise. "He _raped_ Sherlock?!"

"Well, to put it bluntly... Yes."

"Oh, dear God!"

"Worst of all, perhaps, is I think this may make his first time. This is going to leave some emotional scarring, most likely... My brother has a hard time letting go of things like this, which is understandable."

"Yes, I understand."

"I'm going to have my men question him, and once we've evaluated that, we'll bring him back to you. You are okay with that, aren't you, John?"

"Yes, Mycroft."

"Expect him back within the next hour or two, then."

"Alright. Bring him back safely."

An hour and a half later, there was a knock on the door.

John walked over and opened the door.

Sherlock was there, his scarf tied differently to hide more of his neck than usual.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" he asked as he let him in.

Sherlock stumbled past him, walking a bit strange. He didn't say anything in response.

"Sherlock?"

"I'm just fine..."

"Are you sure?"

Sherlock nodded weakly.

"Want something to eat or drink?"

He shook his head, simply standing in the middle of the room with his back to John.

John sighed a bit. "Want some time alone?"

Again, he shook his head.

"What do you want?"

"To stand here, think, and listen to your voice." Sherlock replied in a distant tone.

"You like my voice?"

"Yes... I hear it so often, even when you're not with me..."

John blushed a bit.

Sherlock adjusted his scarf gently. He had said on the phone that Magnussen had left a mark on his neck...

"Mind if I look at the mark on your neck?" he asked.

Sherlock tensed up for a moment, but then slowly slipped the scarf off.

John carefully looked at the mark.

It was a dark hickey with some fading bite marks, as if the flesh of the Consulting Detective had been pinched between Magnussen's teeth.

"That cruel man..." he grumbled under his breath.

"He... He coerced me into it..."

"How?"

"He threatened to destroy you..."

John's face paled.

"I had no choice but to surrender... I couldn't take the risk..."


	9. You Should Be Resting

"You poor man..."

Sherlock began putting the scarf back on.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"John... I'll do whatever it takes to protect you."

"And I would do the same for you, Sherlock."

The Consulting Detective almost smiled for a moment.

John smiled back at him.

Sherlock looked rather tired and pale.

"You should rest, Sherlock. I'll take the couch while you take the bed."

"N-no, I..." He shook his head.

"It's alright, Sherlock."

"I'm fine..."

"If you're sure."

"... John..."

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"He... told me something about you..."

"What did he say?"

"You should get some rest, John." He changed the subject abruptly.

"Sherlock, tell me what he said."

"I don't remember." He lied, clearly not wanting to repeat what had been told.

"You're afraid of what my answer will be, aren't you?"

He gave John a guilty look.

"Please tell me, Sherlock."

"It's not important..."

"Sherlock..."

" _It's not important!_ " Sherlock snapped out of the blue.

John was shocked to hear him snap at him.

Sherlock huffed and shook his head as if to clear it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I'm just... not myself right now."

"It's alright, Sherlock." John replied as he walked to the couch.

Sherlock watched him carefully.

John sighed as he sat on the couch.

Sherlock's head twitched suddenly, but the taller man shook it off. "Get some rest, John." He said, faking a smile that was, unintentionally, somewhat unnerving.

"You too, Sherlock." he replied as he laid on the couch.

Sherlock cautiously sat on the edge of the bed.

John slowly fell asleep.

Sherlock watched him.

John curled up a bit on the couch as he slept.

Sherlock stepped closer, staring down at his colleague.

The good doctor didn't seem to be very comfortable.

Sherlock looked through some of the drawers in the apartment's kitchen.

John continued to sleep.

The Consulting Detective found a knife in the drawer and glanced back at John.

The doctor turned over in his sleep.

Sherlock glared at him maliciously, tightening his grip on the handle of the knife.

John continued to sleep.

Sherlock stepped closer, still holding the knife. They had both made the mutual promise to protect each other no matter what, and he didn't want to break that promise, but he had been left terrified of John from his "discussion" with Magnussen.  
Love was a dangerous disadvantage. John loved him. Sherlock felt he wasn't as safe as he could be.

The doctor continued to sleep.

Sherlock shakily raised the knife above his head. He knew what he had to do to keep himself "safe", and yet he found himself hesitating.

John had been his friend and companion for a long time. Did he really want to destroy all of that just to protect himself?

He quivered in uncertainty, physically ready to thrust the knife down, but still emotionally debating whether or not he wanted to.  
" _John_..." The name escaped his lips against his will.

John groaned a bit as he turned over.

Thinking he was about to wake up, Sherlock gasped and stepped back, hiding the knife behind his back.

John sleepily looked up at Holmes. "Is something the matter, Sherlock?" he asked.

Looking and sounding troubled and stressed, Sherlock replied, "No... No, John, n-... N-nothing's wrong. Go back to sleep."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I just... I just have a bit of a headache. It's fine..."

"Oh, okay, Sherlock." he smiled and fell back to sleep.

Sherlock lowered his head and let out a sigh. He couldn't bring himself to hurt John, and he knew it.

John was sleeping peacefully now.

The Consulting Detective returned the knife to the drawer.

The doctor snored a bit.

Sherlock turned away from the drawers and returned to sitting on the edge of the bed.

He couldn't believe what he almost did.

He tried to get it into his head that he wouldn't come that close to hurting John again.

And he had to make sure John never finds out what he almost did.

He again let his eyes wander to his friend.

The good doctor turned over again and snored.

"I must be losing my mind." Sherlock muttered to himself. "How could I ever even consider hurting my only friend..."

John stirred a bit.

Sherlock fell silent before he said anything more.

He continued to sleep.

Sherlock continued to worry about things.

John started to wake up a bit.

Lost in his own thoughts, Sherlock didn't really notice.

The good doctor groaned as he got up and staggered towards the bathroom.

Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts and watched him. "... John?"

"Hmm? Yes, Sherlock?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. I just have to use the bathroom."

"Oh... Alright."

John then went into the bathroom.

Sherlock waited for him, still sitting quietly on the edge of the bed.

He soon came out after washing his hands.

Sherlock looked up at him.

John went back to the couch and laid down.

"... The couch isn't too comfortable, is it?"

"Not really, but I'll stand it."

"You don't have to, you know..."

"It's quite alright, Sherlock."

"I can't bear to see you so uncomfortable, John."

"It's really alright, Sherlock."

"It isn't. You're slouching right now because of an obvious back ache." Sherlock announced, showing that he may have purged most things from his mind, but he was still able to quickly deduce things. "Your joints are rigid and you're in discomfort; you can hardly even sleep. If you're so concerned about me, then we can share the b-" Sherlock caught himself with a look of discomfort on his face. "... Sorry, I got caught up in the moment."

John's brow cocked a bit. "You want to share the bed?"

"E-eh... Y-you... I..." He seemed to be thinking of some clever rebuttal, but wasn't able to come up with anything on the spot.

"We could if you want to."

"I'm not sure..."

"We don't have to, Sherlock." he said as he laid down on the couch.

"If you're alright with it, then we should..."

"I'm alright with it."

"Then come on..."

John got off the couch and laid on the bed.

Sherlock looked nervous.

John just laid there; staying on one side of the bed.

The Consulting Detective's hand quivered somewhat, so he grabbed it in an attempt to stop it shaking.

"Are you alright, Sherlock?" asked John.

"Yes." He quickly answered. "Yes, I'm fine..."

"Alright then. Good night, Sherlock." he yawned and fell asleep.

Sherlock sat by him awkwardly.

John continued to sleep.

Trying to mentally convince himself that everything would be fine, Sherlock hesitantly laid down beside him.

John rolled over and hugged Sherlock.

The Consulting Detective tensed up.

He then snuggled him a bit.

Sherlock leaned his head against John's.

He smiled in his sleep.

Sherlock remained still.

John snuggled him more.

Sherlock began to relax a bit.

It felt nice to him to have John close to him.

He started to realize just how exhausted he was.

John's warm embrace was helping him relax enough to fall asleep.

He closed his eyes.

And then he drifted off to sleep.

He began to have a nightmare.

Someone had hold of John and was threatening to kill him.

Sherlock, while carefully begging for them to let John go, tried to figure out who it was.

The figure just smirked and twitched their trigger finger.

"Please, don't!" He shouted. "Just show me who you are. Why are you _doing_ this?"

The figure stepped into the light and revealed he was himself! " _You're_ the Consulting Detective~. _You figure it out~!_ " he smirked then fired the gun.

Sherlock found himself alone suddenly, standing where the other him had been, holding the gun. Slowly, he looked down at John, the hand with the gun trembling.

John had a gunshot wound on the left temple of his head and he had the look on his face as if he tried to say ' _Why, Sherlock...?_ '

"J-... John... N-... N- _no_ , I... I didn't..." He dropped the gun and took a step back, covering his mouth. He wanted to look away, but his eyes were fixed to his dead friend lying before him. "I didn't do this... I-I _couldn't_ have..."

Then Moriarty stepped forward and grinned evilly. "I told you we were alike, Sherlock." he said.

Sherlock shook his head. "No... No, I... _You_ did this, didn't you?! I would _never_ hurt John Watson!" He insisted desperately.

"It was you who fired the gun; not I." he grinned.

"I'm not like you... I... wasn't the one who pulled the trigger. I couldn't have been. It wasn't me! _I'm NOT like you!_ "

"Then why do you have your 'friend's' blood on your hands?"

Sherlock clutched his head. "This isn't real. It can't be. Get out of my head! The only explanation is that I'm going mad, and I'm _not_ crazy, _I'm not!_ "

" _Allow me to end it all for you!_ " Moriarty laughed as he took out his gun and fired it at Sherlock's head.


	10. The Beginning of The Descent

Sherlock jolted upright in bed with a short cry, now awake.

John was still sleeping peacefully next to him.

Sherlock anxiously chewed on his lower lip as he stared down at him. He could still hear Moriarty's words echoing throughout his head, and it was giving him a bit of a headache, so he got up and headed for the bathroom to see if there was any aspirin in the cabinet behind the mirror.

Lucky for him there was some.

He downed two pills and put the bottle back, closing the cabinet door. When he looked into the mirror, he saw Moriarty grinning at him instead of his own reflection, and he jumped back in surprise. "You..." He muttered.

Moriarty laughed evilly before vanishing.

His head down, Sherlock stepped forward and clutched the edges of the sink. He felt laughter beginning to bubble up inside him, and soon found himself laughing hysterically, his knuckles white from gripping the sink so hard while his body quivered.

John began to wake up. "Sherlock...?"

The laughter became crazed and maniacal, and John heard the sound of the mirror smashing.  
" _I AM NOT LIKE YOU!_ " Sherlock laughed at something.

John quickly jumped out of bed and ran for the bathroom. "Sherlock, are you alright?!"

Sherlock stopped laughing when he heard John's voice. Slowly, he stepped out of the bathroom with a bloody hand from punching the mirror. "John..."

"Sherlock, what happened?" he asked with concern.

He slowly shook his head. "N-nothing, I..." After a brief silent pause, he suddenly pulled John close and held him tightly.

John slowly hugged him back. "Sherlock...?"

"We have to solve this case _asap_ , John." Sherlock said in a solemn tone. "I'm not sure for how much longer I'll be able to..."

"The only way to do that is to bring Moriarty to justice." replied John.

"My sanity's on the line."

"What do you mean, Sherlock?"

"I'm not myself..."

"What are you talking about?"

Sherlock stepped back. He opened his mouth to tell John what was wrong, but then snapped it shut.  
He couldn't tell John. What if he was scared away?  
His pale blue eyes wide with terror, Sherlock slowly shook his head, grinning slightly. "Nothing." He said in a forced but quiet happy tone. "I'm fine. I'm just fine."

"If you're sure."

Sherlock looked away.

"Sherlock?"

"I'd never hurt you."

"I know you wouldn't, Sherlock."

"I _don't_." He admit quietly.

"What did you say?"

"I'm glad." He lied. "I said I'm glad."

"Well, let me clean your hand and bandage it up so we can go back to sleep."

"I'm not going back to sleep, John."

"But you need your sleep."

Sherlock shook his head. "Sleep is useless, just like eating. After a while, you get used to going without it."

"Sherlock, you need to eat and sleep."

"It's a waste of time." At this point, Sherlock realized his headache was only getting worse, and he still was hearing Moriarty mumbling in his head. It was hard to focus on what John was really saying.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock tried to shake his head of the voice of his current nemesis, but to no avail. "What...?"

"Are you alright?"

"I... need to sit down..."

"Alright, Sherlock."

Sherlock took a step past John before he fell to his knees, clutching his head. " _Just SHUT UP!_ " He screamed at the echo in his head.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" cried John as he rushed to him.

"Please, John... Stay back..." Sherlock mumbled.

"Why? What's wrong, Sherlock?"

"I'm not..." Sherlock began groaning, no longer paying attention to John but only to the voice. "I'm not going to hurt him... You can't make me..."

"Sherlock...?"

"John, make him shut up..."

"Make who shut up?"

A look of distress appeared on Sherlock's face as he looked up at John. "You mean... you can't hear him...?"

"Hear _who?_ "

"M-... Moriarty..."

"But he's not here, Sherlock."

"I know..."

"You mean... he's in your head...?" he asked in concern.

Sherlock, not having the heart to answer, averted his eyes.

"My word... You _are_ hearing him in your head..."

"Please, John... I'm not... I'm _not_ crazy...!"

"I didn't say that, Sherlock."

"But you can't deny that's what you're thinking..."

"Sherlock, you just need some rest."

" _Rest won't help me, John!_ _Rest_ is _what made this happen!_ "

"What are you talking about?"

"I went to sleep, and I had a... a really messed up nightmare. When I woke up, I could still hear Moriarty, and I _still can._ "

"Oh dear..."

"I would never hurt you, though, I swear!"

"I know you wouldn't, Sherlock."

"You're safe around me... so please don't leave..."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Sherlock looked up at him with a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"You need me, Sherlock, and I'll stay by your side."

"John... You're an idiot. But you're _my_ idiot... and I love you for it."

John smiled a bit.

Sherlock kind of wanted to hug him in that moment, but didn't feel it safe.

John ended up hugging him instead.

Carefully, Sherlock hugged him back.

"I'm here for you, Sherlock."

Trying to hide his relief and other emotions, Sherlock hid his face snuggled against the crook of John's neck.

John gently rubbed his back.

Sherlock's head still hurt and he could still hear Moriarty mocking him, but this only made him hold John tighter.

John rubbed his back more.

"John..."

"Yes, Sherlock?"

Sherlock suddenly kissed him.

He was surprised but kissed back.

After a few seconds, Sherlock broke the kiss.

John panted a bit.

"Sorry about that... I don't know what came over me just then..."

"It's quite alright, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled a bit.

John smiled back.

"John, I..."

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"... I won't hurt you." He repeated.

"I know, Sherlock. I know."

"Make me confident that I won't..."

"Sherlock, you have to believe in yourself. Trust yourself."

"I can't, because..."

"Because of what?"

"I've... already almost hurt you..."

"You did? When?"

"When you were asleep on the couch..."

"But why?"

"I don't know, I just... felt like I had to, and then I realized what I was doing, and..."

John then hugged him close.

"J-... John...?"

"It's alright, Sherlock."

"B-but I..."

"I understand, Sherlock."

Sherlock hugged John back.

He continued the hug as he rubbed his back.

Sherlock finally began to relax a bit.

John smiled as he continued the hug.

"John..."

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Thank you..."

"You're welcome, Sherlock."

Sherlock held him tighter.

John rubbed his back some more.

Sherlock kissed him again.

John kissed him back.

The Consulting Detective continued the kiss.

John gently held him close.

Sherlock held him tighter.

They then fell onto the bed.

Sherlock broke the kiss and stared up at John, being pinned under him.

John smiled at him as he got off him.

Sherlock then pulled him back.

He yelped a bit as he chuckled.

Sherlock let him go. "Sorry..."

"It's quite alright, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled a bit.

John smiled back at him.

"John, I..."

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"I... Love is a dangerous disadvantage, but... I love you regardless."

"I love you too, Sherlock." he smiled.

Sherlock kissed him once more.

John kissed him back.

Sherlock embraced the doctor.

He gently held him close.

Sherlock continued the kiss.

John happily continued to kiss back.

Sherlock was comfortable like this.

So was the good doctor.

The kiss was broken again.

John looked into his eyes.

Sherlock gazed at him with a certain childish wonder.

The good doctor smiled kindly at him.

Sherlock smiled back.

John wished this moment would last forever.

"John..."

"Yes, Sherlock?"

He only smiled a little.

John smiled back.

Sherlock remained quiet, seeming to admire his partner.

John did the same.

Again, Sherlock kissed him.

He happily kissed back.

Sherlock broke it again. "Of all the things this case would lead to, doing this with you right now was at the very bottom of the list of what I expected." He said breathlessly.

John chuckled a bit. "I'm glad we are doing this."

"I am too, it's just... It almost feels surreal."

"Yes, it does."

"This _is_ real, right...?"

"Yes, it's real, Sherlock."

"Just checking."

John smiled at him.

Sherlock smiled back.


	11. Nightmares While Asleep And Awake

"We should get some rest."

Sherlock shook his head, suddenly looking a bit scared.

John gently held him. "I'm right here. Don't be scared."

Sherlock held him back. "I can't rest, John."

"Yes, you can, Sherlock."

"I..."

"You don't have to be scared. I'm here."

Sherlock held him.

John held him back and smiled.

"What if Moriarty starts up again, John?"

"Then call out to me and I'll come give him what for."

Slowly, a smile spread across Sherlock's gaunt face.

Johh smiled as well as he gently kissed Sherlock's cheek.

"If it makes you happy, John, I'll try to rest..."

"Okay, Sherlock."

"... Lay beside me...?"

"Of course I will, Sherlock." he smiled and laid down next to him.

"I'm sorry if I'm acting like a child. I don't usually get scared, but..."

"I don't mind, Sherlock, and I don't think you're acting like a child."

"Don't you?"

"I give you my word, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled again.

John smiled again and snuggled him.

Sherlock snuggled against him as well.

He chuckled softly and relaxed.

"Let's rest."

He nodded and fell asleep.

He began to dream.

He looked around him.

He seemed to be alone.

"Sherlock...?" he called out.

He found that he had a cellphone in his hand.

He dialed Sherlock's number and tried to call him.

The doctor got the detective's answering machine.

"Sherlock, please answer me..."

On the answering machine, John was able to notice one strange difference; Sherlock referred to himself on it as " _Sherlock Moriarty_ ".

He wondered why he did that.

He needed to find him.

He ran to look for him.

His best bet was probably to return to Baker Street.

So he hurried to Baker Street and to the flat.

The door to 221B was open.

He slowly walked inside the flat.

Inside, sitting in his chair, was Moriarty himself. "Oh, Dr. Watson. Long time no see."

"What are you doing here, Moriarty?" John growled a bit.

"I should be asking _you_ what _you're_ doing here. Didn't you abandon poor little Sherlock?"

"What? I would never do that!"

"Cute, denial! So, anyway, why are you here? Did you come to see Sherlock?"

"Yes, I did!"

Moriarty shrugged. "So be it, then. Oh, _Sher~lock~!_ " He called, not unlike one would call for their beloved pet dog. "There's a visitor here to see you!"  
"Is he a cop?" Sherlock's voice called from within his bedroom.  
"Come now. Would I really call you out here to talk to a cop?"  
With that, the bedroom door opened, and Sherlock walked over, fully dressed with his coat and all.

John looked a him and smiled. "Hello, Sherlock."

Sherlock said nothing for a long moment, simply staring at John. Soon, however, he turned his head and looked at Moriarty. "What's the meaning of this?"  
"Why, whatever do you mean, dear Mr. Holmes?"  
"Why is he here? Is he a client?" The taller man casually turned his back on John and paced toward the fireplace.  
"No, silly."

"Sherlock, it's me, John Watson."

"John Watson." Sherlock repeated, as if the name had struck a bell. "John Watson... God, where have I heard that name before?"  
"Nowhere, Sherlock." Moriarty said, staring at John with a dark smirk on his face. "You haven't heard it before, I don't think."  
"Hm, perhaps I'm mistaking the name for another."

"Moriarty, you brainwashed him!"

"You're giving me far too much credit, Dr. Watson. Sherlock?"  
"Yes?"  
"You haven't heard the name before, but I have."  
"From where?"  
" _A client_." Moriarty replied darkly.  
Sherlock tensed up a bit and stood up straight, popping the collar on his Belstaff coat as he usually did when he wanted to seem somewhat intimidating.

"Sherlock, why don't you remember me? I have been your friend and partner for years!"

Moriarty suddenly revealed a gun, aiming it at the good doctor. Seeing this, Sherlock also pulled out a gun.  
"Who wants him?" Sherlock asked Moriarty.  
"Magnussen." Moriarty replied.  
"Why?"  
"You know we never ask our clients _why_ , dear Sherlock."  
"Fair enough." The 'detective', who now seemed to be a criminal using his bright mind for evil, turned his attention back to John. "Stay right where you are."

The good doctor gulped.

As Moriarty stood, Sherlock's pale eyes looked John over from head to toe, as if inspecting him and trying to deduce things about him. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he lowered his gun.  
"Oh my God. John Watson... _John?_ "  
"What a shame, it seems good old Sherlock Holmes remembers."

John gasped when he saw Moriarty aim the gun at Sherlock and fire, but he got in the way and took the bullet for him.

" _John!_ " Sherlock cried out as Moriarty laughed.

John collapsed to the ground; bleeding terribly.

"You can cut out the act now, Sherlock." Moriarty said.  
" _What_ act?!"  
" _This_ act!"

The good doctor weakly looked up at them.

"There _is no_ act!"  
"I'll shoot you if you don't resume playing along."  
"Maybe that's for the best if John will die either way. I don't want to live if he dies."

"Sh-Sherlock..."

"Do you really want his sacrifice to be worthless, Sherlock?"  
"That's not it. If you won't let me save him, then I'll want to die."  
"By all means, try to save him. I _dare_ you."

He continued to bleed terribly.

Sherlock bent down to help, and Moriarty smirked.  
"Syke!" He shouted and shot Sherlock in the stomach.

John's eyes widened in horror as he saw his friend collapse.

"J-John..." Sherlock groaned.  
Moriarty burst into insane giggling.

John weakly dragged himself to Sherlock.

Moriarty walked over and took Sherlock's gun. He headed to the phone and called for an ambulance. "Hello? Yes, there's been an accident at 221B Baker Street. One man's hurt bad, and another's _dead...!_ " He said, staring darkly at Sherlock as he made the last remark while faking fear. "Please hurry."

John weakly glared at Moriarty.

The criminal hung up and walked over to them. "How cute. I almost feel bad for this." He said sarcastically as he aimed his gun at Sherlock's head.

He dragged himself more and tripped Moriarty.

Moriarty laughed. "Still got some fight in you, eh?"

He tried to trip him again.

Moriarty stepped back. "Nice try."

He then collapsed from blood loss.

It was then that he woke up from the nightmare.

He sat up quickly and was in a cold sweat.

Sherlock was asleep beside him.

He breathed a sigh of relief and laid back down next to him.

"Mm... John...?"

"Everything's alright, Sherlock. Go back to sleep."

"You look panicked..."

"Just had a nightmare."

"What of?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Alright..." Sherlock was beginning to slowly drift back into sleep.

John tried to go back to sleep.

He couldn't do so; the thought of Sherlock getting shot was haunting him even though he knew it was only a dream.

He tossed and turned but he couldn't go back to sleep.

He kept seeing in his head Sherlock collapse to the ground after Moriarty shot him.

He had to make sure that wouldn't happen in real life.

Beside him, Sherlock turned in his sleep, his back now to John.

He tried again to sleep.

It was no use.

He sighed in defeat.

Sherlock remained asleep.

John just laid there and stared at the ceiling.

Sherlock turned over again, draping his arm over John's chest.

Watson blushed a bit.

The detective snuggled closer to him.

He blushed more as he held him.

" _John_..." The name was a whisper on his lips.

John smiled and nuzzled him.

Despite the death of the Sherlock in his dream, thankfully the real Sherlock was alive and well... physically, at least.

He wished he could bring him back to his old self mentally.

There wasn't much he could do on that front, though.

He sighed again and tried once more to go back to sleep.

It was starting to work.

His eyes drooped and finally closed.

Sherlock was still snuggled against him.

He smiled in his sleep.

Sherlock began to open his eyes.

John continued to sleep.

Sherlock sat up, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

The good doctor snored a bit.

The detective watched him sleep.

He snuggled into the blanket and pillows.

Sherlock smiled a little.

John looked like a child sleeping there.

"John..." He whispered lovingly.

He smiled in his sleep and snuggled closer to Sherlock.

Sherlock felt content.

It seemed so did John.

The detective closed his eyes.

John snuggled him some more.

Sherlock laid back down next to him.

The good doctor continued to sleep.

Sherlock suddenly heard someone whisper his name. His eyes flung open and he sat up, looking around the hotel room, only to find that no one was in proximity... even so, he heard it again.

The voice wasn't disturbing John as he slept.

"... Who's there?" Sherlock asked quietly. He got no answer, but when he was about to shrug it off, he heard it once more, making him stand up.

Sherlock started to get worried.

He listened closer, but the whispers seem to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. They began hushed-ly saying other things, reminding him of his experience with Magnussen for one.

John stirred a bit.

Sherlock bit his lip and covered his own ears, trying to block out the voices to no prevail.

They began to get louder.

The Consulting Detective screwed his eyes shut until he heard, as if his ears weren't covered and the source was whispering right into his ear, Magnussen's voice.  
" _I promise it won't hurt for very long._ "  
His eyes shot open and the color drained from his face, leaving him wide-eyed and pale in horror; this is what Magnussen had whispered to him before he had begun his "experiment" with Sherlock's body.

Shivers went down his spine as he heard those same words again.

He quivered, almost able to feel the sensation of the man's hands running themselves down his sides.

He nearly screamed when John snuggled into him again.

Sherlock jumped to his feet.

Then he realized it was only John.

He tried to calm down, but the voices wouldn't shut up.

They began to grow louder.

He stumbled away from the bed before collapsing to his knees on the floor.

John stirred a bit.

Sherlock could still feel the phantom sensations of Magnussen touching him, and to these feelings he clawed at the imaginary hands.

John woke up a bit. "Sherlock...?"

Sherlock couldn't hear him over the voices. "Get off...!"

He quickly sat up. "Sherlock, what's wrong?!"

Sherlock kept clawing at himself. "Get your hands off of me!" He shouted, becoming more frantic.

He quickly went to him. " _Sherlock!_ "

The second John touched the Consulting Detective, he recoiled and screamed. " _NO! NOT AGAIN!_ "

"Sherlock, it's me, John! Calm down!"

Suddenly, the detective froze up. "J-... John..." He was silent for a moment before he lowered his head. "I... I'll do it... Just... Just don't hurt John..." It appeared as though he was stuck in a flashback, reenacting his side as it progressed.

"Sherlock, snap out of it!"

Sherlock leaned closer, as if to kiss John, though his brow was tightly knotted in discomfort.

John kissed him.

Sherlock continued the kiss, despite his lips trembling. He was clearly hesitant to do anything more, but seemed to be waiting for John to progress.

He kissed him deeper.

Sherlock shuddered. He nearly rejected the action, but immediately forced himself to accept it, believing that something bad would happen if he didn't. He seemed to still be waiting for John to go further.

John gently held him close as he continued the kiss.

Sherlock tensed up.

He let him go and broke the kiss.

Sherlock gazed down at the floor, appearing to be waiting helplessly for John, or rather the person he was imagining him to be, to go further.

John didn't do anything.

Still, Sherlock seemed petrified by fear.

"Sherlock...?"

"What are you waiting for..."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't hurt John... Hurt _me_ , but don't hurt John..."

"Sherlock, it's me, John Watson! Snap out of it!"

Sherlock blinked a few times, slowly at first. He seemed to slowly be coming out of it. "John...?"

"Yes, it's me, Sherlock."

"John... Oh, thank god you're safe..."

"Of course I am. You were stuck in a bad flashback, Sherlock."

Sherlock breathed a brief sigh of relief. "... I'm sorry, did I do anything... strange?"

"You were screaming, ' _Don't touch me!_ '"

"Is that all?"

"You also kept saying, ' _Don't hurt John. Hurt me instead, just don't hurt John..._ '."

Sherlock averted his eyes. "Sorry about that."

"It's understandable, Sherlock. You had a horrible experience."

"I should be able to restrain myself, though..."

"It'll take some time."

"But..."

"But what, Sherlock?"

"That kiss felt so _real_..." He mumbled to himself.

"That's... because _I_ kissed you..."

Sherlock shot him a surprised look.

"I thought the kiss would snap you out of your flashback..."

"Th-that was... That was _you_... Had I... not tensed up, would you have...?"

"I would never do anything against your will, Sherlock."

"I'll trust that..."


	12. Vividity

"Are you alright now?"

"I'm not sure, but I think so..."

"That's good."

Sherlock tried to smile a bit, but to no avail.

John gently hugged him.

Sherlock hugged him back.

"I'll protect you."

"Thank you, John..."

"You're welcome, Sherlock."

Sherlock held him tighter.

"I'm right here for you."

Sherlock managed to smile a little.

John smiled back at him.

The Detective then frowned a bit, as his head still hurt.

"Want something for your headaches?"

"I'm not sure that anything will work."

"You sure?"

"It's psychosomatic." He replied.

"Ah, I see."

"... You can't hear those whispers, can you?"

"No, I can't."

"Just checking."

"Let's try to go back to sleep."

"Are you still tired?"

"A little since that nightmare woke me up."

"I can't sleep again, but you can try."

"Are you sure?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Alright." he said as he laid back down.

Sherlock rubbed his own temple.

John tried to go back to sleep.

Sherlock watched him.

He went back to sleep and started to snore a bit.

Meanwhile, the whispers continued to torment Sherlock, though he did his best to hide it.

John continued to sleep.

Sherlock was gradually becoming overwhelmed again, but he held it back and opted to pace.

John snuggled into him.

The gesture made a shiver run down his spine before he stood up and began pacing about.

John continued to sleep.

Sherlock paced back and forth until, when he turned, he suddenly saw Magnussen standing in front of him and gasped.

He grinned evilly at him.

Sherlock backed away in fear.

"Where are you going? We didn't start any fun yet~."

He shook his head. "Not again..."

" _Yes_ again~."

"John's safe this time... You can't make me not struggle..."

"Ooh, someone's brave~."

Sherlock backed up more. "Stay back, or I'll..."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll..." It was at this point that Sherlock realized he had nothing to continue this threat with, for he knew of exactly zero weaknesses of the man in front of him. "Or I'll... scream..."

The evil man laughed. "That won't do you any good. Your friend would think you're nuts. I'm not really here~."

"He wouldn't think I'm nuts..."

"Are you sure about that~?"

Sherlock gulped, not being completely certain that John wouldn't, at this point, think he was crazy.

The evil man smirked. "Just like I thought~."

"If you're not really here, though, you shouldn't be able to do anything to me..." With this, Sherlock stepped forward, however hesitantly.

The man's eyes widened and stepped back.

Noticing an advantage, and completely dismissing the idea that it could be a trap under certain circumstances, Sherlock stepped quickly toward the man.

"This can't be!" he cried as he fell back.

Sherlock reached to grab him, but instead found himself alone in the room with his hand against the floor. "A hallucination with intent to cause harm should never comment on its own nature." That said, he glanced back at John. He had been slightly rattled, nevertheless, by the realization that he had to be careful around John, lest the ex-army doctor deem him crazy.

John stirred a bit but stayed asleep.

Sherlock sighed in relief. After a pause, he mumbled. "I'm not crazy... I'm just... stressed."

He _had_ been through a lot lately.

Still, the thought didn't comfort him very much.

John then started to wake up.

Sherlock quickly got up from off the floor and tried to make it seem like he had been pacing.

He yawned as he sat up. "Are you alright, Sherlock?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine." Sherlock answered, however too quickly.

"You sure? You seem nervous."

"I'm just peachy." Again, he replied too quickly, all the while not making eye contact with John.

"Sherlock..."

Sherlock said nothing this time.

"Sherlock, you can tell me anything."

"You don't think I'm... _slipping_ , do you John?"

"No, why?"

"No reason..."

"What are you not telling me?"

"Let's just say I'm not confident in my mental health."

"Oh my."

"But you wouldn't say I'm _crazy_ , would you?"

"I wouldn't, Sherlock."

"Ever?"

"Never ever."

Sherlock seemed to become a bit relieved.

"Want to go get something to eat since it's morning?"

"Well, I..."

"Well what?"

"Are you sure that's wise, John?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean... No, it's... nothing. Let's go get something to eat."

"What would you like to get?"

"I don't know, surprise me."

He nodded and dialed on his phone to order out.

Sherlock stood there awkwardly, his eyes darting around to make sure no further hallucinatory threats were around.

It was nice and quiet.

Still, he couldn't be certain that he was entirely safe, so he remained standing rigidly in place.

Soon their breakfast came to their room.

The sound of knocking on the door made Sherlock jump.

"Sherlock, calm down. It's just room service." replied John as he answered the door.

"Yes, I... I knew that." Sherlock mumbled. He couldn't believe how much of a nervous wreck he had become.

He helped him sit down and handed him his breakfast.

What he didn't know was that Sherlock still had no intention of eating anything.

"Please eat, Sherlock."

"I... I'm fine."

"Sherlock..."

Sherlock looked at John.

"Please tell me you're alright and eat?"

"... I... I'm alright." It sounded fake, and still the Consulting Detective wouldn't eat.

John sighed as he gave up and started to eat his own breakfast.

"... Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Realizing John couldn't hear it, Sherlock quickly replied, "Nothing."

"You're hearing things again, aren't you?"

Sherlock silently looked down.

"You should see a doctor about this."

He looked alarmed by the idea.

"Sherlock, you've been through physical and mental trauma. I really think you should get checked out."

"No, that's... That's out of the question."

"Stop being so stubborn. There's only so much I can help with."

"I really can't. A psychologist wouldn't understand my mind. I can't blame them for it; they're not trained to treat anyone like me. I'd be deemed mentally unwell even without all of this other stuff."

"Good point."

"I wouldn't be able to handle any negative diagnosis right now..."

"Alright, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked down.

John sighed. He wished he could help his friend.

"... John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"... You still don't think I'm crazy, do you...?"

"I don't think you're crazy, Sherlock."

Sherlock seemed a tad relieved.

"You still need to eat though."

"I know, I just..."

"Just what?"

He shook his head. "Nothing..."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes..."

"Alright, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked down at the food in front of him and seemed to contemplate eating it for a moment.

John was already eating his food.

Still, Sherlock didn't eat.

John didn't try to get him to eat.

Sherlock covered his ears.

"Sherlock?"

The Consulting Detective uncovered his ears a bit. "What?"

"Why did you cover your ears?"

He immediately moved his hands away from his ears. "No reason." He said quickly, increasingly aware that if he kept on showing signs of instability, John may resume insisting he get help.

John sighed and resumed to eat his breakfast.

Sherlock tried to resist the impulse to cover his ears to block out the sounds that only he could hear. They were becoming rather loud and distressing, but he tried to keep his hands down, attempting to convince himself that the sounds would pass.

John felt helpless to help his long-time friend.

Sherlock tried to smile a little for John, but with it, his brow furrowed somewhat in distress.

John tried to smile back.

Still, soon enough, Sherlock opted to cover his ears again.

The good doctor sighed and finished his breakfast.

Sherlock still hadn't touched his.

John didn't try to make him.

The Consulting Detective still had his ears covered.

John didn't try to get him to stop.

Eventually, Sherlock started shaking his head.

"Sherlock?"

Unable to hear John over the loud noises, at least not with his ears covered, Sherlock continued shaking his head.

John gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

Sherlock jolted in surprise.

"Are you alright?"

"I... Yeah..."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing..."

"Sherlock..."

"I'm fine..." He lied.

John then backed down.

Sherlock looked at him.

John just got up and put the dirty dishes away in the sink.

Sherlock quietly watched John do this.

John then sat down.

"John..."

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Do you... really think I should get help?"

"Yes, I do."

Sherlock seemed reluctant but willing to see someone.

John smiled and dialed the number of someone he thought could help.

Sherlock waited anxiously.

"She'll see you today if you want."

"Fine..."

"Then we meet with her at 10:30."

Sherlock put his head in his hands and nodded slowly.

John gently hugged him.

"I'm only doing this for you, John..." He mumbled.

"I know, Sherlock."

Sherlock slowly returned the hug.


	13. Help Me

"Let's get ready."

Sherlock put his scarf back on, and seemed to be more or less ready.

John got ready as well and went out the door with him.

Sherlock was tense.

"It'll be alright, Sherlock."

"Whatever you say, John..."

John sighed. "I can just cancel if you don't want to go through with it."

"No!" Sherlock said. "No, I... I do want to go through with it, it's just... I have a bad feeling about this."

"What do you mean?"

"I just feel as though nothing good can come of this."

"We have to at least try, Sherlock."

"I understand that..."

"I just hope she can help you."

"I doubt she can..." Sherlock mumbled.

"You must have faith, Sherlock."

"Whatever you say, John..."

John sighed as he walked in with him.

Sherlock seemed to become nervous as they stepped inside.

The woman smiled as she offered him a seat.

He reluctantly sat down, glancing at John as he did so.

John sat down next to him.  
"John told me about what happened to you, Sherlock. That must be terrible." replied the woman.

"I... I suppose so." Sherlock mumbled.

"You can speak your mind here, Sherlock."

Sherlock averted his eyes. It simply wasn't in his nature to admit when something so "trivial" in his sense was bothering him. "It was... unsavory."

"I would bet. How did it make you feel?"

"... Odd. Both disgusting and... almost pleasant."

"Almost pleasant?"

Again, Sherlock looked away. "Well, I've... I mean, I've... never been handled that way before." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Never been... touched... like that before..."

"I see. Anything else?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "A lot has happened recently. I want to say I'm recovering, but I don't think that's entirely true..."

"What makes you say that?"

"I think I'm adapting. Not recovering, just... adapting."

"Adapting?"

"Like I'm trying to cope, but I'm doing it by attempting to immerse myself in what I've been dealt. I'm not fixing myself. I'm changing myself. I'm becoming used to this torment. I want this torment."

"I see."

Sherlock was now quiet. He kept his eyes averted from John, worried he may be receiving a concerned or even upset gaze from the older man.

"This changing yourself; do you WANT to change?"

"I don't know. I want to say no, but I think, deep down, part of me says yes."

"Why do you think the reason is?"

"Perhaps I'm just scared of it happening again..." Subconsciously, Sherlock glanced at John for a moment when he said this.

"I'm guessing you haven't talked to John about this." the woman said as John gave him a concerned look.

"I tried to kill him while he was asleep once. Does that count as talking to him about it?"

The woman looked horrified as John's eyes widened in shock. "Oh my god no it doesn't!"

Sherlock looked away again. "No... No, I mean, of course it doesn't." He decided from this point on to keep his mouth shut about how his hallucinated form of Moriarty wanted him to kill John.

"Th-that's it for the day. You may make another appointment for another time."

Sherlock's eyes shifted to the left of the psychologist, where he saw Moriarty leaning against the wall. The hallucination made a throat-slicing motion, pointing with his thumb at the woman. Sherlock lowered his head, understanding the gesture.

John stood up and walked out.

"I'll be seeing you, doctor. If you'll excuse me, though, I need to follow my own doctor." With this, Sherlock jumped up started heading for the exit. He stopped short, however, when he saw Moriarty in the doorway, blocking his path.

"Mr. Holmes, are you alright?" she asked.

"I'm..."  
"Kill her, Sherlock." Moriarty said. "You brought the knife."  
Sherlock furrowed his brow and felt the pocket of his coat - sure enough, he had somehow managed to slip out the knife from the hotel room without realizing it. He pulled it out and looked at it, not realizing that revealing he was armed in front of an already-alarmed psychologist was probably not the best move.

Her eyes widened as she quickly got up and went for the panic button on the wall.

Sherlock saw, and before he knew what he was doing, he threw himself toward her and grabbed her by the hair. "Press that button and your blood coats the walls, pig." He snarled. When he realized what he was saying, however, he shut his mouth; he wasn't sure where that had come from.

She softly whimpered as tears overflowed in her eyes. "Sherlock?!" he heard John yell from behind him; seeing the whole thing.

Sherlock came back to his senses, and he slowly turned his head to look at his partner.  
"John... I... Sh-she was... She was going to press the button..." He murmured, trying to explain himself.

John just backed up and quickly left.

For some reason Sherlock couldn't explain, he only found it fitting to blame this on the psychologist he held. Any guilt in his eyes vanished and was replaced with what could only be described as fury and hatred as he turned his pale blue eyes onto the woman.

She whimpered more as more tears fell.

He bit his pale lips as he struggled to resist to urge to slice her neck open with the knife he held in his trembling hand.  
"Just do it already, Sherlock." Moriarty said; Sherlock didn't know it, but he was now saying this aloud. "Why are you hesitating? John left. What he doesn't see won't kill him."

The woman silently prayed as she shut her eyes.

Sherlock shook his head.  
"Do it."  
"No..."  
"Do it."  
"No...!"  
"Do it."  
"JOHN!" Sherlock cried out, before snapping to himself in a different tone, "John can't help you now. He thinks you're crazy! She thinks you're crazier still!"  
Slowly, Sherlock pressed the knife harder against her throat.

"Don't do it!" yelled John.

Sherlock belt out a cry before he threw the psychologist aside and clutched his own head. "I can't... I won't...! John, help me...! You're a coward, Sherlock. It's not too- SHUT UP! JOHN!"

John quickly ran over to him; taking the knife away and tossing it aside before holding him close.

Sherlock held him tightly, almost painfully so, burying his slender face into the crook of the doctor's neck.

"I'm here for you, Sherlock."

"John..." Gradually, the Consulting Detective started to calm down.

John gently rocked him.

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at the psychologist, worried he may have hurt her whilst throwing her away.

She was knocked out when her head hit her desk.

"J-John...?" Sherlock mumbled as he glanced at John. "She's... not dead, is she...?"

John checked her pulse. "She's alive."

"I can change that." Sherlock reached for the knife, but then froze for a moment and shook his head. He cleared his throat before picking up the knife and putting it into his pocket. "Let's get out of here, then. Before I do something stupid."

John nodded and helped him out.

"John? Perhaps you'd better carry the knife..."

John nodded and took it.

Sherlock was now quiet.

So was John.

"... John...?"

"Yes, Sherlock...?"

"Did I..." He cleared his throat. "Did I scare you back there...?"

"Yes, you did..."

"I'm sorry about that... It's just, you left, and... Honestly, somehow that made it worse..."

"This is all my fault..."

"N-no, it's... That's not what I'm saying..."

"Yes it is! I made you go to her!"

"Look, it probably would've happened anyway. It's probably better this way, or else it might've been you I targeted..."

"You almost killed someone!"

"She means nothing to me. What scares me is that the 'someone' in question could've been you if we hadn't gone to see her."

"I doubt it. I seemed to stop you."

"For now, maybe... But what happens when I lose grip of myself? When Moriar- I mean, the voices, take over?"

"I know about that, Sherlock. You still insist on keeping things from me."

Sherlock sighed. "... Fine. It's Moriarty, as you know, but his goal is to make me hurt you. I don't want that to happen..."

"So what do we do now?"

"Well, clearly, getting me help is not possible..."

John looked away.

"We need to find a way to keep you safe from me."

"What if I don't want to be safe?"

Sherlock looked at him. "What do you mean...?"

"This whole mess began because you wanted to protect me and look at what happened to you because of it. I'm too weak to even help my greatest friend when he needs me the most."

"John, don't say things like that. I need you with me. So long as you're safe, I don't care what happens to me; I don't care what happens to anyone, anyone but you. If you're safe, it's worth it."

"But don't you see, Sherlock? Wanting to protect me is why you were targeted!"

"If it weren't for my desire to protect you, I'd be dead right now. I would've let Moriarty kill me when he first got his hands on me if it weren't for you."

"And he tortured you for it!"

"What, are you saying that you'd rather he had killed me? Put me out of my current misery then?"

"You know that's not what I mean!"

"Well then what do you mean? You want me to stop trying so hard to protect you? Because if so, just give me that knife back. I'll show you how lucky you are that I'm so hellbent on keeping you safe."

"Are you threatening me now?"

Sherlock's brow furrowed as he realized that he was, and that he should probably be concerned, but found himself unable to be. "I just want to keep you safe. Let me do that."

"Fine..."

Sherlock feigned a small smile. "I'm fine, John." It was an outright lie, but had good intentions.

"If you say so."

"Don't you believe me?"

"Not really. You didn't tell me you tried to kill me so why tell me the truth?"

Again, the taller man's brow furrowed. "But John, I did-... Oh, wait, I had said I had only tried to hurt you..."

"You still didn't tell me."

"I tried to, but you cut me off and told me you understood..."

"When?"

"Shortly after the incident with Magnussen..."

"Oh, I see."

Sherlock looked away. "I didn't know what I was doing..."

"You were alright until you were beaten across the head."

"It jumbled up everything... I'm trying to repair it but I'm doing it wrong, and it's making me unstable..."

"That's why I wanted to help you."

"Well, it's too late now."

John looked down.

Sherlock suddenly hugged him.

This surprised the good doctor.

"Don't leave me, John..."

"I won't leave you, Sherlock."

Sherlock held him a little tighter.

John hugged him back.

Unconsciously, the Consulting Detective's hand began gently searching for the knife.

John didn't notice.

Sherlock kissed him as his hand found the knife in John's pocket and carefully wrapped his slender fingers around the hilt.

John blushed as he kissed back.

Without removing the knife from the doctor's pocket, Sherlock's hand shifted the knife and quickly stabbed the blade into John's stomach.

John grunted as he suddenly coughed up blood.

Sherlock pulled back, surprised by the blood that was now on his face until he became aware of his hold on the knife.  
"Oh my God... N-no, John, I-I didn't...!"

Tears filled the good doctor's eyes as he gave Sherlock a betrayed look before collapsing to the ground.

"J-John, I... I'm..." Sherlock knelt down next to him and pulled his phone out of his own pocket. He frantically sent a text before bringing his attention back to John. "There should be an ambulance here in approximately three minutes and forty seven seconds..." It seemed as though Sherlock still remembered that old deduction. "John, I'm so sorry...! I didn't mean to... I didn't know I was even doing that...!"

John didn't answer since he was out cold.

Sherlock heard clapping, and he looked up to see Moriarty approaching, dressed casually now.  
"Good lord, Sherlock, you really did a number on him." The villain said.  
"Go away... You're not real..."  
"Not real?"  
"Just leave me alone! You made me do this!"  
Moriarty paused for a moment before bursting into hysterical laughter. "You've really lost it, haven't you, Sherlock?"  
Sherlock's eye twitched from the confusion of being unable to distinguish whether he was talking to the real Moriarty or not.

Soon the doctor was in a pool of his own blood.

"John...!"  
"Oh, Mr. Holmes... It appears you've punctured something."  
"Shut up!"  
"I never thought I'd see you lose your cool like this. It's quite interesting. Come away with me, Sherlock."  
"No, I'm staying with John."  
"If you come with me, you won't get caught."  
"I've hurt John..."  
"He'll be safe."  
This made Sherlock turn his head from John to Moriarty, who then smirked.  
"I won't send anyone after him. All I want is you, Sherlock. If you come with me, he'll be safe from both you and I."  
"But..."  
"Don't you want him to be safe?"  
Sherlock bit his lower lip in uncertainty.

Sherlock felt John's hand weakly clutch the end of his coat.

Sherlock's pale blue eyes began to water and he tightly gripped John's hand in his.  
"There's just one small catch, though..." Moriarty added.  
"What is it...?"  
"Well, I've got a partner... To keep John safe from him, you're going to have to live by his rules."  
"Who's your partner?"  
"Oh, he's... To say the least, you'll know him when you see him. What do you say, Sherlock?"  
"John wouldn't leave me... It'd be wrong for me to-"  
"John wouldn't leave you before you stabbed him. That might be different now, though... I'd probably leave after this if I were him."  
"I..." Sherlock gave it a moment's thought, studying every crease and wrinkle of John's hand with his fingers. "... I accept... Help me keep him safe..."  
"Very good, Sherlock... You won't regret this."

John's gripped tightened for a moment.

Moriarty walked closer to Sherlock and held out his hand. "Come on. Leave the side of the angels behind. Clearly you're not fit for it."  
A tear ran down Sherlock's gaunt face. He leaned down to John and gently kissed him, making Moriarty roll his eyes impatiently.  
"I'm not leaving you." Sherlock whispered into John's ear. "Please, believe me... I'm doing this because I love you..."  
"Sherlock? We haven't got all day here. The ambulance is going to be here any second now."  
Sherlock then took Moriarty's hand, and the two ran off as the ambulance approached alongside a car driven by Detective Inspector Lestrade.

A tear rolled down the unconscious doctor's bloodied cheek.

The doctors put John into the back of the ambulance and began driving him to the hospital.

"Sherlock..." he moaned.

The people in the ambulance ignored this, as they didn't know what it meant.


	14. No More

John woke up a few hours later.

He was alone in a hospital bed.

He still couldn't believe Sherlock would stab him like he did.

His phone was on the table beside him.

He wanted to call Sherlock but decided not to.

He found that he had one text from Sherlock's number.

He looked at it.

It read, simply, "I love you."

John quickly deleted it.

It was quiet.

He felt so betrayed and alone.

His phone vibrated as he got a new text from an unknown number.

He looked at it.

"What hurts more, Dr. Watson? Losing Sherlock to me, or losing Sherlock to me and then having me send him back to C.A.M.?" was what it said.

He deleted the message and put his phone down.

C.A.M... What if Moriarty had taken Sherlock to Charles Augustus Magnussen?

Why should he care? He was betrayed by Sherlock.

But was he, really? Given that Sherlock was now unstable, and had warned him that he himself was dangerous... not to mention, he had got an ambulance to arrive as quickly as he could.

True but he left him there; bleeding out.

But he had done so under the impression, however possibly false, that doing so would benefit John.

John didn't know what to think anymore.

It appeared that Sherlock was recklessly selfless, truly not caring what happened to himself so long as it kept John safe. He had said that the only way to take down Moriarty was to allow himself to take the fall with him... if he was right, no one should be hearing anything more of the criminal.

But that would mean no one will ever hear from Sherlock ever again as well. This brought tears to the doctor's eyes.

Another text from the same unknown number made his cellphone rumble again.

He slowly looked at it.

"Are you still asleep? Geez, sleepy head. Just because I promised Sherlock I wouldn't kill you doesn't mean I can't talk to you, does it?"

He texted. "What do you want?"

"To brag, really. I mean, I have finally won over Sherlock. He must have been surprised to find out just how intimately he knew my partner, ha ha!"

"You're so cruel."

"Are you only just realizing that? Anyway, the ever-elusive Mr. Holmes is with my partner right now. I can only imagine what they're getting up to. Perhaps I'll check up on them soon and send you pictures. Wouldn't want you to feel left out, would we?"

"Pig."

"Well, hey, I'm sure my partner can pleasure him better than you can, even if there's fighting and blackmail involved. Have you two even done it yet? Or are you two not a thing now?"

"That's none of your business!"

"Ah, well, it doesn't matter. I'll find out from Sherlock eventually. We're going to break him, you know? We've got the best tool in Britain now. With Sherlock, we can get whatever we want... not that we couldn't already."

John growled and threw his phone across the room.

Sherlock was in danger.

But what could he do?

There wasn't much he could do but get ahold of Mycroft again.

So he dialed on the hospital phone and called him.

"Hello?" He heard.

"He has him again. C.A.M."

"Understood. I'll see what I can do."

"Be careful. He and Moriarty are going to try to break him."

"Well, let's hope it hasn't already come to that."

"I hope he's alright."

"I'll get back to you with news afterwards."

"Okay."

Mycroft hung up.

Watson hung up and carefully laid back.

He could only hope that the situation would work itself out.

He prayed for Sherlock's safety.

It took an hour for the room's phone to ring.

He answered it.

It was Mycroft. "John? There's been a problem."

"What happened?"

Mycroft cleared his throat. "The problem is blackmail. Magnussen has stated he will use his knowledge against the British Embacy if we try to take him into custody or take Sherlock away from him."

"Oh, I see..."

"He did say, however, that if Sherlock wanted to leave of his own free will, it would be fair game... but rest assured that Magnussen will stop at nothing to twist Sherlock's mind into believing he is unable to leave. What we need is a way to prevent that from happening. Someone on the outside to keep him... well, alive."

"How about me?"

"That's the plan."

"What do I have to do?"

"I'd recommend texting him. Unless Magnussen has his phone, it's discreet and the best way to get hold of him."

"That might be a problem. I threw my phone across the room when Moriarty pissed me off texting me."

"That wasn't very smart. Nevertheless, I'll have someone bring you a new one."

"Thank you."

"I hope it won't be too late by then."

"Yeah, me too."

"Well, just give it a bit and a cellphone will be with you shortly."

"Okay."

True to Mycroft's word, after about half an hour a nurse walked in and handed him a cellphone. "I was told to give this to you, Dr. Watson."

"Thank you, nurse." he said as he took it.

The phone already had Sherlock's number registered as a contact.

He text "Sherlock?" to it.

After a minute or so, he got the response of "Who is this?"

"It's me John Watson."

"John? Why the new number?"

"Moriarty pissed me off when he texted me and I kind of threw my old phone against the wall."

"I'm sorry he's been texting you."

"He told me why he wanted you, Sherlock. He wants to use you for evil."

"Maybe that's what I'm best at..."

"No it's not, Sherlock!"

"Trying to be good has resulted in nothing but me getting mocked all my life and ultimately hurting you."

"I never mocked you, Sherlock."

"You were the only one who never did..."

"Because I respect you."

"Do you, still?"

"I still do, Sherlock, and I always will."

"I'm sorry for leaving. I love you. Magnussen is coming back, I have to go."

"I love you too, Sherlock. Be careful."

Sherlock stopped responding.

John sighed a bit.

He could only hope that Sherlock would be okay.

For now he would have to wait and see.

... If Sherlock was able to respond.

He prayed for his safety.

After a few minutes, he got another text. "Dr. Watson?" It said.

"Yes?" he texted back.

"I was wondering why you stopped responding to my texts! I've taken Sherlock's cell. Magnussen's having fun with him. Want pictures?" This was followed by a heart emoticon.

"You're a sick monster, Moriarty!"

The next text was a picture of Sherlock, half naked and freshly beaten, struggling to obscure his face from the camera.  
"Hey, I'm just the one with the camera." Moriarty replied.

"Stop tormenting him!"

"Why? He's letting us do this now. For you, might I add."

"I hope you burn in Hell, Moriarty!"

"Oh, I hope I do too... But on the bright side, I'll be taking Sherlock with me when the time comes. I'm not going to Hell alone. Here's another picture~!"  
This picture showed Sherlock's face, bleeding and bruised and covered in faint hickies. It also captured the floor underneath him, and the top of Magnussen's head as the older man had his face in the crook of the Consulting Detective's neck and appeared to be sucking there again.

"Make him stop!"

"I have no control over Magnussen. I couldn't make him stop even if I wanted to. Are you upset yet, Dr. Watson? Why don't you limp your way over here?" Moriarty sent him an address. "Come try to save your damsel in distress. See what happens."

"I'll be there."

"You're going to regret it. Here's one last picture for the road."  
This one showed Sherlock in apparent agony and discomfort with a knife against his pale, marked throat. Though it wasn't entirely made clear in what the photo captured, it was likely that Magnussen was now taking this sexual assault a step further.

That last picture made John pissed. He ripped out his IVs and went out the door.

The nurses tried to stop him, telling him he needed time to recover.

He pushed them aside and kept going.

His destination was quite far. He needed to be quick.

He tried to quicken his pace.

Despite the wound on his stomach hurting, he quickly made it outside. The next step was to find a taxi.

So he tried to hail one.

As one stopped for him, he got another text.

He quickly looked at it.

"He's started crying out your name. How cute." It said.

He growled and got into the taxi.

Another text. This one read, "And now he's actually sobbing. Aww, I almost feel bad."

"Bastard!"

The taxi driver asked him where he was headed.

He told him the location.

The taxi driver began to drive as he got another text.  
"Now this is getting really pitiful. I think we've broken poor little Sherlock Holmes... He's blubbering like a baby."

"You're dead!"

"We'll see about that."

The doctor growled angerly.

It took almost a whole hour for the taxi to pull up at the address John had told him.

Watson got out and limped to the building.

Moriarty stepped out as he got close. "Ah, Doctor Watson! Glad you could join us. Come in, come in."

He grumbled as he went in.

He found Magnussen sitting on a white couch, his arm wrapped around Sherlock, who was leaning against his chest and was still beaten but now fully dressed. Sherlock looked traumatized, and did not respond to John's entry.  
Magnussen gestured for John to sit on another couch across from them.

He sat down on it and winced.

"Would you like something to drink?" Magnussen asked. "Tea? Water, perhaps?"  
Sherlock blinked, but didn't dare move other than that.

"So you could poison me? No thank you."

Magnussen chuckled a little. "Moriarty might do that, but not I, Doctor Watson."  
Sherlock shivered a bit, and Magnussen leaned down somewhat, kissing the man's forehead.  
"I have to apologize for the poor behavior of Sherlock Holmes. He's still adjusting, that's all."

"He's only here to protect me."

"Your arrival has nullified that."  
As Magnussen said that, John could feel Moriarty press the barrel of a pistol against the back of his head.

"You're both scum." he growled.

"Hmm, actually." Moriarty removed the gun and walked over to Sherlock and Magnussen. He stood beside where Sherlock sat, and aimed his gun at John from there. "I want to make sure Sherlock sees the whole thing."  
"... P-please..." Sherlock mumbled.  
"Begging won't save him, Sherlock."

John didn't flinch. He sat there and glared at the two evil men.

Moriarty shrugged and calmly shot John in the stomach.  
Sherlock watched, his eyes widening though his facial expression remained otherwise blank.

John grunted as he held his stomach.

Something in Sherlock snapped in that moment.  
Moriarty, whether he realized this or not, grabbed Sherlock by the collar of his coat and tugged him up. "Come on, stand up, Sherlock. Here." He handed the Consulting Detective the gun and made him aim at John. "Pull the trigger. Do the honors." Casually, Moriarty then backed up.

The good doctor coughed up blood as he weakly looked up at Sherlock.

A broken smile slowly but surely crept its way onto Sherlock's face as his aim remained firm. Looking into his eyes, it was hard to recognize him.  
"Go on, Sherlock. What are you waiting f-" Before Moriarty could finish, Sherlock, without turning his face from John, aimed behind him and easily shot him in the head. Moriarty's corpse slumped to the ground. Magnussen didn't seem surprised or even startled, as he simply continued to sit on the couch.

"Sherlock...?"

Sherlock closed his mouth but kept smiling as he dropped the gun to the floor.  
"Would you like your cellphone back?" Magnussen asked. When he got no response, he slowly walked over to Moriarty and dug out Sherlock's cell. He tossed it at the Consulting Detective, who caught it without bothering to look.  
Sherlock then dialed a number, making a call, which was strange considering he preferred texting.  
"Hello?" He said in a hoarse voice. "Yes, I'd like to report an incident. Two men are dead and another is injured. Gunshot wound. The address?" He told them the address. "Please hurry." With that, he hung up and slowly turned his gaze onto Magnussen, who didn't even look away.

John coughed up more blood as his wound reopened.

Sherlock tossed his cellphone down onto the couch beside John and began walking casually toward Magnussen. "Say..." He began. "Where do you keep the knives around here?"  
"Why do you ask?"  
"Because I'm not going to make your death as painless as his. You're going to suffer, just like I have."  
"Mr. Holmes-"  
"I'M GOING TO RIP YOU APART." Sherlock snarled.

John soon passed out from blood loss.


	15. Explanation

John woke up, dazed, in... 221B?

He wondered how he got there as he looked around...

He heard Sherlock gasp across the room. "John!" The Consulting Detective rushed to John's side. He was covered in blood, and he ran his iron-smelling blood-covered hand across John's cheek. "John... Oh, you're awake... I brought us home...!" He sounded both desperate and crazed as he said this.

"Wh-what happened...?"

"Magnussen and Moriarty are dead... I made sure of that. We're safe, John...! We're finally safe...!"

"But you're covered in blood..."

"It's theirs... I made sure, remember?" Sherlock smiled. "One may argue that disemboweling is a tad extreme, but it does get the job done." The man snickered.

John's face paled.

"John, you look scared... Is something wrong...?"

"You killed without remorse... You're no longer the Sherlock I knew..."

"I had to do it, John...!"

John looked down.

"John, I love you..." Sherlock kissed him with his bloody lips.

But John didn't kiss back.

Sherlock didn't seem to care. He simply began kissing a little deeper.

He still didn't kiss back.

Sherlock broke the kiss and stroked John's hair. "Get some rest, John... I won't let anything bad happen to you ever again, I promise..."

John fell asleep without a word.

Sherlock stared at him as he slept.

He curled up in his sleep.

Sherlock pulled out the bloody knife he had used to kill Magnussen and looked at it. He considered the consequences of using the knife on John, and decided to instead put it back into his coat pocket.

He whimpered in pain from his wounds.

Sherlock went back over to him and kissed his forehead.

He relaxed a bit.

He kept stroking John's blond hair with his bloody hands.

He relaxed more.

Sherlock's stomach grumbled, but he paid it no mind.

Watson continued to sleep.

It grumbled more, trying to remind Sherlock that he hadn't eaten for a few days now. Still, he only rolled his eyes at it.

He then thought about what John would say.

He shook his head as he yawned. He couldn't eat or sleep; he was afraid that if he took his eyes off of John for even a second, something bad would happen.

But then he thought if he didn't eat or sleep he wouldn't be able to fend off anyone that would harm John.

He was torn. As if to help him decide, he looked at John's sleeping face.

John had a smile on his face as he slept.

Sherlock sighed and tried to stand, only to collapse back to the floor. It was at this point that he realized he was bleeding. Perhaps the blood that coated him was his own...?  
'No,' He thought. 'No, that's impossible. It's Magnussen's. It has to be.'

Then he found a wound he had missed.

He covered the wound with his hands and looked back up at John.

John was still sleeping.

"It's not that bad..." Sherlock mumbled to himself through grit teeth. "I can just... hide the pain..." Even as he said this, the blood leaked over his slender fingers, coating them in a new, fresh layer of crimson.

Then he noticed John's wound was bleeding a bit as well.

He attempted to prop himself up. "J-John..." Trying to dismiss the pain he was in, he shakily took off his scarf and attempted to put pressure on John's wound to stop the bleeding.

John groaned a bit then relaxed.

"John..." Sherlock's head was beginning to spin.

Soon his wound stopped bleeding.

Sherlock left his scarf on John's stomach as he collapsed back to the wood floor beneath him. He was bleeding bad, and he wondered how he hadn't noticed this sooner. Even so, he soon forced himself to his feet and kept trying to ignore his own self-inflicted injuries.

John began to wake up.

Sherlock tried to act natural, despite the fresh blood on his hands and clothes.

"Sherlock...?" he moaned a bit.

"Yes, John?" Sherlock stepped closer to him.

"My wound reopened... I need to go to the hospital..."

"I-it's alright... I can take care of you here, John..."

"But..."

"It's fine..." Sherlock ran his fingers across John's cheek and flinched when he realized he was smearing fresh blood across the doctor's face.

"Oh my god, Sherlock, you're hurt!"

"N-no, I'm fine..." He pulled his hand away quickly. "This blood isn't mine..." He attempted to half-heartedly convince himself of this.

"Sherlock, you're bleeding badly! You need to go to the hospital!" cried Watson as he tried to get up.

"J-John, John, don't get up...!" Sherlock, with shaky hands, tried to gently force John back down. "I may not have done a very good job on stitching your injuries, seeing as I'm in this state..." A lot paler than normal, Sherlock flashed the doctor half of a weak smile.

"We need to go to the hospital!"

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "I told you I can take care of you here, John... They'll take me away from you if we go to the hospital..."

"But you'll bleed out and how can you protect me if you're dead?"

Sherlock gulped a bit. He had to admit the good doctor had a point. He took the knife out of his pocket and looked around for someplace to put it.

John grunted a bit as his wound ached.

The Consulting Detective simply kept the knife in his grasp and pulled out his cellphone. This time he sent a text, as per norm for him. When he was finished, he slumped to the floor beside John, leaning his head against the doctor's chest.  
"Help's coming..."

"Thank you, Sherlock." he weakly smiled.

Sherlock coughed up some blood.

John gently pet his head. "We'll be alright."

"John... I'm so tired..."

"You're alright, Sherlock..."

Sherlock closed his eyes.

He continued to pet him until he passed out.

Soon an ambulance arrived.

John was out cold.

A couple hours later...

John slowly woke up.

He was alone in a hospital room.

"Hello? Anyone out there?" he called out.

Lestrade walked in. "Oh, you're awake. Welcome back to the land of the living."

"You mean I almost died?"

He laughed a little. "No, I meant it in a more casual sense..."

"I see. How's Sherlock doing?" he asked.

Lestrade took a deep breath, which was probably a bad sign.

"Inspector, please tell me; is Sherlock alright?"

"He's..." The Inspector sighed. "He's in critical condition. By the time we got there, he'd stabbed himself twice in the gut, and combining that with his other wounds..."

John's eyes widened. "He stabbed himself...? But why?"

"We're not sure. But we determined that the rest of his wounds were probably also self-inflicted... All of the blood on him and the knife was his own..."

"Not all of them. Magnussen beat him again."

"Well... All of the open wounds, at least."

"Tell me straight. Is there a chance he could die...?"

"... Honestly, yes."

The good doctor looked down.

"They're doing the best they can for him, but he's really messed himself up. Do you have any idea why he did this to himself?"

"They must have broke him..."

"Who?"

"Moriarty and Magnussen."

"Do you know what they did to him?"

"I know Magnussen raped him again."

"Bloody hell..."

"I know..."

"... Any chance you might know where they are right now?"

"They're both dead..."

"How did that happen?"

"Moriarty shot me then tried to have Sherlock finish me but he shot Moriarty dead and I passed out before I could see what he did to Magnussen."

"Well, whatever he did, he must've been neat about..."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, as I said before, we found out that most if not all of the blood on him was his own."

"I'll give you the address where this happened."

"Sure thing."

John wrote down the address and handed it to the Inspector.

"I'll have someone check it out."

"Okay."

"In the meantime... Did he do that to you?"

"Do what to me?"

"That stab wound."

Watson looked away. "Yes..."

"I see..."

"But he didn't seem to realize he did it until I coughed up blood."

"Really?"

"Yes. I think the first assault from Moriarty in the head then the abuse and rape from Magnussen might have made him snap..."

"Jesus, I could understand if it did..."

"And I made it worse..." he said sadly as he continued to tell the Inspector what happened.

"You did what you could. I wouldn't have done any better."

"Really, Inspector? Because of this whole mess; I could lose my greatest friend I have ever had."

"I understand that; he's my friend too, believe it or not..."

"Really?"

The Inspector nodded.

"I just hope Sherlock survives..."

"Same here..."

"The only reason he went with them was to protect me..."

"I always knew Sherlock was selfless..."

"So if he survives and recovers... what will you do with him?"

"Well... We're going to have to lock him up."

"I see..." John sadly replied as he looked down.

"I'm sorry, it's just the way it has to be..."

"I'll lose him no matter what..."

"There is a chance that in court, he might be found not guilty if he can convince them he doesn't remember doing it..."

"He didn't even remember stabbing himself..."

"It's a slim chance, but he might just be able to pull it off if he's stable enough mentally."

John held himself.

Lestrade sighed.

"I wish this was all just a bad nightmare..."

"So do I... I never would've thought that something like this would happen to Sherlock."

"He didn't kill that girl though."

"Girl?"

"The girl that worked at the morgue. Moriarty was the one who killed her."

"Oh, yes, Molly... Not that I don't believe you, but why would Sherlock lead us in the wrong direction if that was the case?"

"Moriarty tried to frame Sherlock; that's why Sherlock led you in the wrong direction."

"Ah... That kind of makes sense, I suppose."

"And it's the truth."

"I believe you."

"Sherlock mislead you to buy us time to expose Moriarty. He knew that if you arrested him before that, Moriarty would have him killed."

"I see."

"Moriarty was like an evil verison of Sherlock."

"Perhaps that's how he evaded us for so long."

"I believe so."

A nurse came to the door and timidly knocked. "Detective Inspector Lestrade?"  
Lestrade stood.

John looked over at her.

"Is he..."  
"Mr. Holmes is awake..."

John sighed in relief.

"He wants to see Dr. Watson..."

"Could you help me, Inspector?"

"I don't know if you should be standing yet, but... I guess so."

John slowly got out of bed.

Lestrade helped him stay standing.

He slowly walked to Sherlock's hospital room.

He found Sherlock to be laying down, conscious but in an obvious daze. He was very pale, and was connected to an IV drip.

"I'm here, Sherlock."


	16. Escape

Sherlock looked in John's general direction and tried to weakly lift his right arm toward him, only to find this arm to be handcuffed to the bedframe.  
"J-John..."

John walked over to his side.

Sherlock smiled weakly.

John smiled back as he gently held his hand.

"John... thank god you're okay..."

"I'm happy you're alive as well, Sherlock."

"John, I..."

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"I don't... think I killed Magnussen..."

"But that would mean... Inspector, call your men back! He's still alive and they're in danger!"

"N-no..." Sherlock groaned. "They're fine... Magnussen won't fight them..."

"Are you sure?"

"Attacking armed police officers won't benefit him..."

"True but this means we're not safe yet."

"I know..."

"What should we do?"

Sherlock shook his head weakly and shrugged somewhat.

John sighed a bit.

Sherlock looked up at him.

"I wish things were the way they were."

The Consulting Detective was quiet.

"Well, I'll let you rest."

"John, don't leave..."

"Why, Sherlock?"

"Just... Just stay with me..."

"Alright, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled a little.

He smiled back as he sat down.

Sherlock then coughed up a little bit of blood.

John gently rubbed his back.

The Consulting Detective again subconsciously tugged at the handcuffs connecting his arm to the bedframe.

"Relax, Sherlock."

With a weak sigh, he stopped.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah..."

He rubbed his back more.

Sherlock relaxed a bit.

"Better?"

He shrugged weakly.

"You should rest."

"No. I want to leave here..."  
"Sherlock, John's a doctor. I don't think that was a recommendation so much as it was a command."  
"I need to leave, now..."  
"The only place you could go from here right now is to a holding cell in Scotland Yard."  
"You... Y-you don't understand..." The Consulting Detective was growing weaker by the second.

"Sherlock, you're very weak right now. You need your rest."

"I need to leave... M-Magnussen might show up; I can't be here when that happens..."

"Sherlock, you are staying here to recover! Do I make myself clear?!" yelled John.

Sherlock fell silent, surprised by the doctor's yelling, and simply nodded meekly.

The good doctor then started to cough harshly from the yelling.

"John..."  
"Don't push yourself too hard. You alright?" asked Lestrade.

"I'll be fine, Inspector." he wheezed.

"You should probably get some rest as well. Come on, I'll help you back to your room."

He nodded and went with him.

After being helped back to his room, he was only alone in peace for a couple of minutes before he heard what sounded like a small commotion.

"What's going on?!"

Lestrade rushed in. He looked shocked and confused as he mumbled, "Sherlock... He... He escaped! I don't understand; I only left him for a minute and he was handcuffed to the bed, but...!"

John looked down feeling like it was his fault.

"I sent Donovan to track him down. In his current state, he can't have gone far yet... but I can't believe it! He picked the lock on his handcuffs and just... left! He's too clever and stubborn for his own good."

"And I gave him the perfect cover..."

"He probably would've escaped either way. It's not your fault."

"What hurts the most is he didn't listen to me..."

"Sherlock never listens to anyone." Lestrade thought for a moment. "But, you know, he did inflict his own wounds upon himself, so..." He seemed very concerned now, as though it had occurred to him that perhaps Sherlock was suicidal at this point and had escaped to find a way to end it all.

"That's what I fear as well..."

Lestrade picked up his radio. "How's that hunt going, Donovan?"  
Over the radio, Donovan replied, "Not great. The freak's nowhere to be seen."  
"Well, look harder!"

"He is not a freak!"

"Wait, I think I see him." Donovan continued, not paying any mind to John's rebuttal.

"Be careful with him. He's still hurt."

"You can say that again." With that, Donovan presumably let go of her radio, probably trying to apprehend Sherlock.

John hoped Sherlock was alright.

Lestrade waited for Donovan to get back to them.

"Please be alright, Sherlock..."

Donovan came back on the radio. "For someone so wounded, he's quick. He got away. I need back up, Inspector!"

"But how can this be?"

"I... Fine, I'll call for backup. Keep on his tail!"  
"He's got someone with him now." There was a pause, and Donovan suddenly began sounding somewhat frantic. "Oh, Christ. I need backup NOW!"

"Run! You can't take him! Just run!" John yelled into the radio.

There was the sound of gunfire on Donovan's end.  
"Hold onto that radio. I'm going after her." Lestrade said rushedly as he ran out.

"Inspector, I hate to say this but she's as good as dead by now."

"What...?" Lestrade stopped. "N-... No, no, I'm... I'm going out there." Regardless of the comment, the inspector left.  
There was more gunfire from the radio. It sounded as though Donovan was somehow managing to hold her own. "The freak is being held hostage!" She shouted. "I repeat, the freak is being held hostage!" It would seem as though Sherlock was not the one firing at Donovan.

"I told you not to call him a freak!"

"Look, I'm only saying the tru-" She stopped, probably to dodge a bullet. "Jesus...! Wh-" There was one last gunshot. "Freeze!" Donovan shouted over the sound of something hitting the ground. "Put the gun down! I SAID FREEZE!"

"Donovan, get out of there!"

There was a gunshot, Donovan cursed, and she fired her gun twice. With that, all was quiet on her end apart from the distant panic of civilians.

"Donovan? Donovan!"

"I'm here." She said rather calmly. "Turns out I didn't need any backup, but an ambulance might be nice."

"The Inspector is on his way and I'll tell a doctor to send one to you."

"That'd be appreciated."  
If Donovan was still standing, did that mean that she'd hurt Sherlock? Or had whoever who "took Sherlock hostage" done so instead?

He gulped a bit and quickly told a doctor what had happened.

The doctor understood and left to pass along the request.

"So what happened, Donovan?"

"The freak," it seemed as though she wasn't going to stop calling him that, "was running, and I guess he just had the bad luck of running right into some lunatic with a gun we would've had to have taken care of anyway."

"What he feared happened anyway..."

"He killed the man. Disarmed him, took his gun, and just shot him. No hesitation."

"What? How?"

"I don't know. It happened pretty quickly. One second, this poor thug had the freak in a headlock, next thing I knew, the man was dead as the freak's feet."

"That can't be right. Sherlock was really injured."

It was possible that her obvious feelings of disdain and contempt toward Sherlock were bringing her to lie, but before she could say anything more, Lestrade arrived at the scene.  
"Donovan, what the hell happened here?!" He could be heard shouting.  
"Self-defense, that's what!"  
"Sherlock... Oh bloody hell, Sherlock!"  
"He had a goddamned gun in my face, Greg! What else was I supposed to do?!"

"Inspector, that's not what she just said to me!" yelled John. "She said that Sherlock somehow got the gun away from his attacker and killed him!"

"That happened before he aimed at me, but thanks for the help, Doctor." She said sarcastically.  
"Christ, I-I can't feel a pulse...!"  
"What's that?"  
"We need an ambulance here NOW!"  
"One's on its way, Inspector."  
"Sherlock, mate, can you hear me? Come on, hang in there!"

"Why didn't you tell me you shot Sherlock, Donovan?!"

"To keep you from yelling at me, but it seems like that precaution was useless."  
"You didn't need to shoot him, Donovan! If anything, you should've shot him in the hand!"

"If he dies because of you, Donovan...!"

"Ooh, I'm so scared. Look, it's not a fatal shot."  
"Not a fatal shot?! Do you even know where you shot him?"  
"I aimed for his left shoulder."  
"Hah! Try a little closer to the center, from the looks of it...!"  
An ambulance could be heard approaching at this point.

John was so enraged and saddened that he didn't know what to do.

Donovan's radio was passed to Lestrade, who also didn't know what to do as Sherlock was lift into the ambulance on a stretcher.

"H-how bad is he...?" he asked as he voice broke a bit.

"He's... I-I couldn't find a pulse, but they're trying to resuscitate him..."

"Don't... It's too late..."

"Heh, what's... What's the worst that could happen if I let them keep trying...? Maybe it'll work..."

"Inspector, he's gone..."

"I can't believe that... Not yet..."

"Donovan sounded like she was point blank when she shot him!"

"She's never liked Sherlock very much, but..."

"I know what I heard, Inspector!"

"I'll look into it... The ambulance is rushing back to the hospital now. I'm going to follow it."

"Alright, Inspector."

The radio was shut off from their end.

John shut his off as he slumped on his hospital bed. "Why, Sherlock? Why couldn't you listen to me for once...?"

Now there was a good chance Sherlock was dead. What would he do without him?

The good doctor broke down and started to cry.

He felt so alone.

He curled up on the bed and sobbed more.

After about five minutes or so, Donovan and Lestrade entered.

He wouldn't even look at Donovan as he sat up.

"I've got some good news... Maybe." Lestrade muttered.

"What is it...?"

"Sherlock's got a pulse again, but... I mean, with how long he went without..."

"I'm not stupid. I know what it means."

"He... He said your name, you know. As they carted him off into the emergency room..."

"Get Donovan out of my room."

"What?"  
"Come on, Donovan."  
"No, I'm-"  
"Come on."

John was holding back the urge to throw something at her head as he watched her being pushed out of the room.

When she was out of the room, Lestrade came back in alone.

"I don't ever want her back in here or near me ever again."

"I understand."

John then told him everything he had heard over com link.

"I don't get it. I know she doesn't like Sherlock, but why would she intentionally try to kill him?"

"Unless she was part of this caper."

"What? No, that's impossible."

"Remember what Sherlock always said; sometimes the impossible is possible. It's the only reason. I never heard a third person on the com link."

"There was another body, though..."

"Who was it?"

"Not sure yet. Some bloke with a gun, that's all I know so far."

"I want to see the body."

Lestrade shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

John called for a wheelchair so it would be easier for him to get around.

Once he was in it, Lestrade wheeled him to the morgue.  
"Molly would normally be here..." He mumbled solemnly.

"I know but we can't dwell on that right now. I must see the body."

Lestrade brought him to the body, opening the black body bag. Inside was one of Moriarty's henchmen that he had encountered earlier.

"He's one of Moriarty's goons. Must've wanted payback for killing his boss. Got himself killed instead."

"Damn..."

"This means HE is still out there and Sherlock is still in danger."

"How are we to catch him, though?"

"We use Sherlock as bait. He's not as smart as Moriarty."

"That seems a little more dangerous than it's worth..."

"It's the only way to draw him out."

"Are you sure?"

"Unless you want to ask Sherlock's brother."

Right then, the door opened.  
"Oh, speak of the devil..." Lestrade mumbled as Mycroft stepped in.  
"It was brought to my attention that Sherlock was deemed clinically dead. I came here as fast as I could." The older Holmes brother said in his usual calm, detached way.

"We need your help, Mycroft."

"Is my younger brother still alive?"

"Just barely."

"I see..."

"And he's still after Sherlock."

"Do not concern yourself with his affairs, John." Mycroft said. "It is solely the business of the British Embassy."

"Sherlock ran because of that and is now clinging to his life!"

"It's not my fault Sherlock is reckless."

"You are a heartless bastard."

"If that were entirely true, I would not be here right now."

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm here simply to make sure that my younger brother is still alive."

"He is. Barely."

"Yes, I know that now."

"If you're done, you can leave my room."

"Do tell Sherlock to keep out of the business of the Embassy, John." Mycroft said as he turned to leave.

"Not his fault that madman wanted to rape and beat him."

Mycroft stopped for a moment, raised his head as if to say something, but decided instead to bite his tongue and leave.

John sighed a bit.


	17. Awake

Lestrade readjusted his stance right as a nurse hurried in.  
"Detective Inspector Lestrade, Doctor Watson?" She asked.

"What's wrong, nurse?"

"Mr. Holmes is conscious. We don't know for how long, though..."

"And?"

"He keeps on saying your name, Doctor Watson. That's all he'll say. We think maybe he wants to see you...?"

"Why? So he could use me as a cover again?"

"John, he won't be able to escape again. Not in the state he's in now." Lestrade said.

"I'm not going."

"Well, I am." said Lestrade. "I need to find out if he remembers anything before he falls unconscious again."

"Then go."

Lestrade ran off, leaving John with the nurse.

John just sat there.

"Do you want me to take you back to your room, Doctor Watson?"

"Yes please, nurse."

She pushed his wheelchair back to his room.

He got into bed and sighed.

Soon Lestrade entered, looking somewhat disappointed.

"What's wrong, Inspector?"

"Sherlock wouldn't say a thing about what happened. He just kept mumbling things..."

"Like what?"

"Your name, for one. Other than that, he kept making... deductions, I guess... but none of them made sense."

"Tough break."

"He's unconscious again now... It doesn't look good."

"He caused this problem on his own."

"I can't really blame him. He's in a difficult situation. I should've been watching him more carefully."

"You did your best."

Lestrade shrugged. "I'm worried, though."

"Of what?"

"For Sherlock. I mean... What if he doesn't wake up?"

"I don't know the answer."

"I hope it doesn't come to that..."

"He was shot point blank."

"Yes, I know that, but..."

"But what?"

"I can't believe it might end like this for him."

"I know."

"I can't help but hope he pulls through..."

"I hope he does too."

"What do we do if he doesn't...?"

"I don't know..."

Lestrade sighed.

So did John.

Donovan poked her head in. "Inspector?"  
"Donovan, I thought I made myself clear."  
"I need to talk to you."  
Lestrade looked at John, almost as if waiting for the OK.

"Go see what she wants."

Lestrade and Donovan left John alone in the room.

John laid back a bit on the bed.

He couldn't help but be slightly curious as to why Sherlock was so determined to see him.

It started to bug him.

What if he'd somehow made Sherlock feel even more determined to die than he already presumably had been?

Maybe he should go see him.

But apparently he was already unconscious again.

He sighed a bit.

What *if* Sherlock didn't wake up?

He didn't want to think of that.

Still, the worry plagued his mind.

He couldn't take it anymore and got into the wheelchair.

He would need to find out what room Sherlock was in.

So he wheeled over to a nurse and asked her.

She offered to take him there.

"Yes please, nurse."

She wheeled him to the room where he saw Sherlock unconscious, hooked up to several machines.

"Oh dear god..."

"The doctors have been doing all they can for him..."

"Sherlock..."

The Consulting Detective remained unconscious on the bed.

He wheeled himself over and held his hand.

His hand was fairly cold and pale.

"Oh, Sherlock..."

Sherlock breathed slowly.

"Please hang on, Sherlock..."

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

John wheeled to the door and opened it.

Standing there was none other than Magnussen.

John's face paled as he wheeled back.

"Hello, Doctor Watson." Magnussen said as he entered.

"Get out of here!" he yelled at him.

"I will be doing no such thing."

John quickly pushed the nurse help button.

"That won't do you any good."  
A nurse hurried in.  
"Sorry, miss. There's been a misunderstanding." Magnussen said.

"Get the Inspector NOW!" John yelled.

Startled by John's yell, the nurse ran off to do as she was told. Magnussen calmly walked past John toward Sherlock.

John wheeled in front of him again. "I will not let you harm him!"

"Who ever said I had intention to harm Sherlock Holmes? He's already harmed enough as is."

"Then why are you here?"

"I wanted to make sure he's still alive."

"He's barely alive."

Magnussen again walked past John, this time placing his fingers on Sherlock's cold hands. "Even still, his hands are as soft as that of a woman."

John growled a bit.

Magnussen held this hand up as if it were belonging to a woman of royalty, but proceeded to kiss it deeply with an obvious level of lust.

The good doctor growled more. "Stop that."

"Are you jealous, Doctor Watson?" Magnussen asked as he continued to hold Sherlock's hand.

"Sherlock isn't yours."

"Isn't he?"

"He isn't."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that..."

"What do you mean?"

Before Magnussen could answer, Lestrade entered the room.  
"What's going on?" The Detective Inspector asked.

"This is the man who raped and beat Sherlock!"

Magnussen shook his head. "I will not deny the abuse, but it was not rape. Mr. Holmes was in perfectly sound mind and did not resist me."  
Lestrade slowly reached for his handcuffs.

"You lie!"

"I speak the truth. Even ask Mr. Holmes himself when he awakens."  
"I'm still taking you into custody."  
"You will not, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade."  
Lestrade hesitated slightly.

John growled angerly.

"I know enough about you to get you fired. I will not hesitate to share what I know. It will destroy the pitiful thing you call a marriage with your unfaithful wife." Magnussen continued, petrifying Lestrade.

"You heartless bastard!"

"I'm not heartless. I'm simply honest."

"I want you out of here now!"

"Fine." Magnussen decided to take his leave now.

The good doctor growled a bit as he watched him leave.

Lestrade looked at John.

"Bring me back to my room."

"Shouldn't we keep an eye on Sherlock...?"

"Bring me back to my room. Now."

Lestrade hesitantly did as he was told.

John said nothing along the way.

Lestrade brought John back to his room. "You want me to help you into bed?"

"I can do it myself."

"You sure, mate?"

"I said I can do it myself." he repeated as he dragged himself onto the bed.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine, Inspector."

"You sure?"

"I said I'm fine."

"If you say so..."

"Just mind your own business and go."

"Are you upset because I didn't arrest Magnussen? Look, I'm not happy about it either, and if I can, I'm going to find a safe way to get him locked up."

"Just shut up and get out."

Lestrade sighed and left the room.

He sighed as he laid back on the bed.

Sherlock was still in danger.

John didn't care anymore.

Magnussen might use their leaving Sherlock's side to his advantage and return to the unconscious Consulting Detective.

But they couldn't stop him since he knew how to get out of it.

Still, what if Magnussen tried to pull something?

Again they couldn't even lay a finger on him.

He heard someone walk past his room.

He looked out of his room.

It was merely a nurse.

He laid back down on his hospital bed.

It was quiet.

He sighed a bit.

He felt alone.

He wanted everything to go back to normal.

Would that even be possible at this point? Sherlock was so far gone, after all...

He had to face facts; he was truly alone.

The most he could hope for at this point was that Sherlock would wake up and still remember him. But even in the event of that sort of situation, Sherlock would be arrested and taken away from him regardless.

John curled up in his bed and began to silently cry.

"Doctor Watson!" He heard a nurse outside of his room shout, likely the one that had walked past a few minute ago, along with some high-heeled footsteps approaching his room.

He quickly sat up and wiped his eyes. "What is it?"

The nurse entered and quickly said, "Mr. Holmes... Mr. Holmes is awake again!"

"He is?"

She nodded.

"And?"

"He's saying your name again...!"

"Take me to him."

She helped him into the wheelchair and started taking him to Sherlock's room.

He sighed a bit.

When he was wheeled into the room, he found Sherlock staring at the window farthest from the door, mumbling to himself.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock stopped mumbling.

He wheeled over to him.

Sherlock didn't look at him, and resumed mumbling. From closer, he could hear what Sherlock was mumbling, but it didn't seem to make much sense...

At that moment he knew the Sherlock he knew was gone.

"A... suit." Sherlock muttered. "Glasses. Balding hair. Means... what?" It almost sounded like he was trying to deduce something aloud about Magnussen when Magnussen wasn't even present.

"Magnussen, Sherlock? Really? You want him here, don't you?"

"No." The Consulting Detective said, now a bit louder. "No. God, no."

"Don't lie to me like you have been. He was here. He told me about you and him."

"What?" Sherlock finally looked at John. He was clearly somewhat out of it, probably due to the morphine in his system, but he was alert enough due to this accusation to pay attention. "What do you mean?"

"He told me he didn't rape you because you let him do what he did and liked it!"

Sherlock seemed horrified by the very idea. "The first time, I may have let him do it, yes, to keep you safe from him. But I did not enjoy it. The second time... You saw those pictures, didn't you? The ones Moriarty took? Do you really think I was enjoying myself...?!" He started to cough, pushing himself to yell yet unable to yet.

"I don't need to be protected. Besides does it look like I was?! I'm in the bloody hospital!"

"John, he would say whatever it takes to get me all to himself. Please... Please, you can't let him have me, John. We need to-... We... We need to..." Sherlock seemed struck by a wave of distraction, and could no longer entirely focus.

"We need to what, Sherlock?"

"To..." Sherlock put his hands on his head. "T-to... urgh..."

"I'll leave you to rest."

"N-no! John, stay...!"

"Why?"

"Don't leave me alone again..."

"But you need rest."

He shook his head. "I only just woke up. This is not something that rest can fix, anyway..."

"Alright."

Sherlock abruptly began mumbling again. He was, not unlike Lestrade had suggested earlier, making deductions of some sort almost under his breath, but they didn't make sense and almost seemed morbid in nature. By the look in his eyes, he didn't appear to be entirely present, lost in his broken mind palace.

But John stayed with him.

On the EKG, Sherlock's heart rate began to increase as he continued "deducing". He was beginning to quiver and stammer slightly.

"Sherlock, calm down."

Still, his heart rate slowly but steadily increased, and the stammering and trembling became more noticeable.

"Sherlock!"

"Th-... The-..." Sherlock let out a brief, quiet cry and held his head again.

"Nurse!"

A nurse hurried in. Sherlock dug his slender fingers into his curly dark brown hair and groaned loudly.

"Sherlock, calm down! I'm here!"

The nurse rushed out and came back with a needle; probably a sedative.

"Sherlock!"

When the nurse approached with the with sedative, Sherlock suddenly smacked it out of her hand. "NO!" He shouted. "Are you insane?! The last thing you are to do to someone in my condition is give them a sedative! Especially that much! With the amount you put in that needle, you could've put me in a coma!"

"He's right."

The nurse stammered somewhat, embarrassed for having made such a mistake.

"Then do the correct thing."

"No, off with you! This isn't something your medicines can fix..."

Watson nodded for her to leave.

Awkwardly enough, she left. Sherlock slowly started to relax.

John rubbed his back.

Sherlock looked at him.

"Are you okay now?"

"Better, at least..."

"Good."

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment as if to rest them.

"Need anything?"

"Other than you?"

That made the good doctor blush.

Sherlock coughed.

"Are you alright?"

He nodded. "Yes, I'm... fine."

"Need some water?"

"I guess I am feeling somewhat parched..."

John quickly got him some water.

"Thank you..." Sherlock meekly took a sip.

"You're welcome, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at John.

John looked away a bit.

"John..."

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"I want to go home..." The pathetic way this was said was so un-Sherlock, and yet, there it was, slipping through his lips.

"No. You're staying here to heal." he said sternly.

Sherlock pouted a bit.

"I'm sorry but you have to get better. I don't want to lose you."

"But what if Magnussen returns?"

"Then you and I will be ready for him."

Sherlock looked down. "I certainly hope so..."

John gently held his hand.

Sherlock looked at him with his weary blue eyes.

"I won't leave your side, Sherlock."

The Consulting Detective smiled somewhat.

John smiled back. "Now get some rest. You need it."

Realizing that trying to fight John on this wasn't going to work, he simply nodded and tried to relax.

The good doctor smiled and helped him lay down.

"John..."

"Yes, Sherlock?"

Sherlock said nothing, only holding John's hand tightly.

"You can tell me, Sherlock."

"It's nothing, I just..."

"Just what?"

The Consulting Detective shook his head gently.

The good doctor sighed.

"Don't... Don't leave me, John."

"I won't, Sherlock."

"I'm just so scared that you might..."

"I'm staying with you, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed. "I just don't want to see you get hurt because of me again."

"My life means nothing if I can't protect you, Sherlock."

The battered Consulting Detective smiled, just a bit.

"You should get some rest. I'll be right here."

"I suppose I'd better..."

The good doctor nodded.

"Fine. I'll succumb to rest, but just this once." It was hard to tell, but it almost seemed like Sherlock was light-heartedly teasing when he said that.

"Alright, Sherlock." John smiled a bit.

Sherlock laid down.

John laid the blanket on him the best he could in his condition.

The Consulting Detective gave the good doctor a faint smile.

"Sweet dreams, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, John..."

He smiled as Sherlock fell asleep.

The Consulting Detective almost looked innocent and at peace while he slept.

John was happy his friend was finally getting some sleep.

It was nothing short of a miracle that Sherlock was still alive, but even so, it seemed that the threat of Magnussen returning was still something to worry about.

He knew something had to be done and soon. He couldn't bare the thought of losing Sherlock to him.

But what could he do?

He had to think of something.

It was difficult to come up with a solution to the problem when both the Scotland Yard and Mycroft feared Magnussen.

Which also meant he was on his own.

He just had to find a way to make Sherlock less interesting to Magnussen.

But how?

There had to be somebody that he could bring Magnussen's attention to.

He just had to find out who.

Perhaps the genius intellect of Sherlock Holmes would be useful right about then.

But what if his mind was too far gone?

He would need a backup plan in that case, but until he knew for certain whether or not Sherlock was still capable of thinking clearly, this idea was probably his best bet.

And he had to think of it fast.

Perhaps, if he could somehow manage it, he could trick Mycroft into helping him.

Now just how will he do it?

Tricking one of the Holmes brothers was bound to be difficult.

Unless he could somehow pay him off.

But he had already learned that Mycroft's assistance couldn't be bought.

He had to think of another way.

It was a long shot, but maybe he could use Lestrade in some way.

Maybe his connections could help.

And, unlike Mycroft, it might be possible to buy Lestrade's help.

John decided to try after he got some rest.

Sherlock stirred somewhat.

He looked over at Holmes a bit.

He was still asleep, but appeared to be a little bit uncomfortable.

John tried to make him more comfortable.

It appeared to work.

He smiled as he started to fall asleep.

He began to dream.


End file.
